Hidden Prophecies, book one: The Secret Heir
by worldsapart
Summary: It's been 12 years since the war ended for Harry and his friends. But the secrets they guard, the events they are trying to prevent, the children they are trying to protect...that continues. Canon characters and next generation. No DH.
1. House of Memories

Chapter One

House of Memories

(chapter by worldsapart)

The sun was high in the sky the day the Weasley family convened at the Burrow for the first time since Christmas. The last time they'd all been together, the snowdrifts had given the old house an air of mystery, like a fossil half uncovered and then forgotten. Now, with the heat of summer still pounding on the curling shingles, it looked more like an ancient ruin still visited by the occasional tourist, but otherwise practically forgotten.

As his broom came to a smooth landing and his feet once again touched the ground, Harry Potter pulled his eyes away from the house, a bright spot of sunshine shifting to glare in his eyes. It didn't matter how many years passed or how much more difficult it became for the magic to hold the place together – he would never be able to see the Burrow as anything but the first home he'd ever known.

He glanced to his right as Ginny looked up at him. She smiled, but he recognized the same feelings welling up behind those deep brown eyes that he felt lodged in his throat. There was love. Love for her childhood home and the memories it held. But there was also sadness. And he knew this place would always be a little of both.

"Do we _have_ to go inside, dad?"

Harry looked back at his son. Even in his short eleven years, Rafe had already adopted an attitude so similar to his mother's that Harry couldn't help but smile at it.

"You know very well we are going inside," said Ginny, and Harry knew she was latching onto those words to pull away from the memories, both happy and painful. "And don't you roll your eyes at me, young man."

"But mum," Rafe said, tossing his broom over his shoulder. "Uncle Bill is just so weird."

"Rafe, don't provoke your mother. We haven't even been here five minutes yet."

As if in defiance of her son's statement, Ginny Potter started briskly up the path toward the front door. Harry watched her go, admiring his view for a moment, before turning back to the boy.

"At least wait until Fred and George get here. Then she can scold them for their bad influence, and you'll be free to cause whatever trouble you like." He winked, and then followed his wife's example.

They got inside to find only a few members of the family gathered in the living room. It hadn't changed much, Harry noted, unsure whether he felt glad that Bill still refused to make adjustments to his parents' house, or sad because he knew Bill hadn't even considered it. Harry understand Rafe's assessment of the man, even if he himself refused to picture anything but the cheerful man he'd known during his school days.

"Uncle Harry!" came the squeals before Harry was even able to remove his travelling cloak. Harry grinned widely as two miniscule ginger-haired boys with slightly larger than average front teeth practically bowled him over in a hug.

"Alright, boys?"

The mirror images glanced at other, mischief twinkling in their eyes. Without answering, they backed away slowly.

Harry saw their mother coming toward him with an equally bright smile on her face, thick brown hair bouncing as she walked. Then he smelled it. The most horrid stench he'd smelled since Fred and George had forgotten a crate of their new and improved dungbombs in his basement. (Though whether or not it was actually an accident was still a debate. Not even age could cure some things.) From the look that crossed her face, it was obvious she smelled it as well

"Arthur! Lancelot!" Hermione screeched. The boys' only answer was to dash up the squeaky staircase.

She crossed the remaining few feet between them and pointed her wand at Harry. "Scourgify!" With that, the smell lessened in intensity, but it still lingered a bit in the surrounding air.

"Thanks," said Harry. He pulled the young woman into a hug. "Still got those two testing new products, have they?"

Hermione pulled back and gave him a tired smile. "You have no idea. How are you, Harry? I haven't seen you around much the last few weeks."

"Well, you know how busy the slacker lifestyle keeps me."

She glared at him, the twinkle in her eyes looking very much like that he'd seen only moments before in her youngest sons' eyes. Before she could comment, however, another figure rounded the corner out of the kitchen.

"Bloody hell! What's that terrible smell?" It was only from years of practice that the people in the room could make out those words through the mouth full of food.

"As if you didn't know, Ronald." Hermione rounded on him, her shining eyes never dulling. "If it weren't for your genes, we'd have stopped at four like I wanted."

"You know the first three were far too well-behaved. You're relishing the fact that you can use all those lines you learned from Mum." Ron kissed her before she could respond, and she seemed mollified for the time being. His hand lingered on the small of her back.

"Did you see Gin already?" Harry asked. Continuing the current topic was dangerous for more reasons than one.

"Yeah, she's in the kitchen with Bill." Ron glanced over his shoulder. A little girl with bushy brown hair sat on the couch with a book spread across her lap. The resemblance to her mother was uncanny, and every time Harry saw her, he half-expected to be dragged off to the library for a frantic study session.

"Molly Rose, can you go help Aunt Ginny and Uncle Bill with lunch? We'll be moving to the garden soon."

"Sure, mum." The little girl hopped up, reverently marking her place in the book and setting it on the side table.

Ron smiled as he watched the little girl bounce into the next room. However, the corners of his mouth twitched down as soon as she'd gotten out of sight.

"Not having a good day, is he?" Harry asked, his voice low despite the practically empty room.

"He doesn't have good days. It's bad and not-quite-as-bad."

"Ron." Hermione clucked her tongue.

"What? It's not like it's a big secret."

"Is there anything we can do, though?" Harry asked, running a hand through his messy hair. "I mean, it's been twelve years since-"

"Twelve years since what?" A voice called from behind them.

"Since a Weasley has graced the halls of Hogwarts, naturally," came another voice.

Harry turned to see the eldest Weasley twins standing just inside the doorway, their arms full of packages. The well-groomed hair and smart business robes might have fooled the average wizard, but Harry could always tell from the way they grinned when mischief was about to be afoot.

Fred lay his bundles down on the nearest table and began to tug off his outer robe. "Just where are our little Marauders-In-Training today, anyway?"

George advanced into the room sniffed the air. He smiled knowingly. "Hiding from their mum, I'd wager."

"I guess that means she won't be speaking to us all afternoon," the other agreed.

"Oh, you two!" Hermione pulled them both into an eager hug. "Arthur and Lance have taken over your _headquarters_." She gave them a glare on the last word. "Molly Rose is in the kitchen. Bax and Bella, well, who knows?"

"I'm sure they snuck out the back door with Rafe soon as they saw he'd gotten here." Ron said with a shrug.

"Well, they'd better not run too far off," Hermione said, giving Fred and George another glare just for good measure.

* * *

Rafe didn't waste any time with his aunts and uncles before hurrying off to the mudroom where he knew his cousins would be waiting for him. Uncle Bill might be an oddball – sometimes downright creepy – but he did keep some pretty cool stuff stashed in his back room.

Before he'd even entered the small room, he could see Arbella Weasley leaning over a large, precariously stacked pile of parchments. Her long hair was billowing in the breeze from a nearby leaky window, and it made her look like some sort of fire princess. Of course, no one who knew her would ever confuse Bella with any sort of refined lady. Rafe grimaced at the memory of her tiny fist connecting with his face the first and last time he'd called her by her full given name. Aunt Hermione had railed her something good for it, of course, but that didn't change the fact that Rafe had done his best to stay on his cousin's good side ever since.

Arbax Weasley, while not nearly as changeable as his twin, was still not a young wizard one wanted to cross. Every ounce of quick reaction time from Bella and every line of witty humour from Rafe, Bax made up ten times over in deep thought and even temper. Even now he stood very still, mirroring the stance of the large statuette whose base he gripped. He seemed to be studying the markings on it, mumbling to himself as he squinted at them.

"You really shouldn't be speaking ancient languages to the statues, mate."

Bella's head jerked up, and papers scattered onto the floor. "Oy, Rafe! You just now get here? We've been waiting for ages."

Rafe answered her grin with one of his own. "Yeah. Dad let us fly in."

"Lucky you. Mum made us floo. That fire pixie infestation has only gotten worse since Christmas. I didn't think I'd ever get them out of my hair." She tossed a few locks over her shoulder as if double-checking one last time for the tiny invaders.

"It's not cursed." Bax didn't even look up from his studies.

"How do you know?" asked Rafe.

"Uncle Bill wouldn't have left it back here for us to find if it was dangerous."

"Why should he care?" Bella rolled her eyes. She trotted over to the back door, not even bothering to straighten the papers she had disturbed.

"Because he knows you two snoop around in here." A satisfied grin crossed Bax's face as he spoke the words. He mumbled a few more phrases so lowly that neither his sister nor cousin could hear them.

Bella laughed sharply. "Snoop? I never see you complaining about our explorations. Who's the one standing nose-to-nose with--"

The statue suddenly split in half. A rolled up bit of parchment stuck out of the base, and Bax grabbed it, not a bit phased at the new development.

"Hey, how did you do that?" Bella quickly closed the distance between them, forgetting her tirade of only a few seconds earlier. "What is it?"

Bax calmly read the paper, rolled it back up and rejoined the two halves of the statue around it. He handed it to his sister. "Have a look for yourself."

"Come on. Let's go outside," Rafe said, pulling on Bella's arm.

"But—"

"You know he's not going to tell you. Why even bother?"

Rafe swung the door open and a blast of sunshine hit him. He couldn't help but smile as he watched a single gnome skitter through the bushes and then collapse in a sigh of exhaustion. It was hot, but to Rafe it was invigorating, like hot cocoa for breakfast on a winter morning.

"We've got to play after we eat," Bella said as she rushed out the door behind him, her curiosity at Bax's find apparently forgotten as soon as she'd eyed the vast expanse of clear sky. "I bet we can give Fred and George a run for their money this year."

Bax wandered out behind her, stopping to pull the door securely shut, despite its unwillingness to do so. "It'll probably be the last chance we get to play for awhile."

"I know! It's so unfair that we can't try out for the house team first year." Bella ran the short distance to the nearest tree and jumped, her long arms barely making it high enough to grasp the lowest branch. With a smooth, lithe motion, she pulled her thin frame up into the tree and stretched out on the limb. Her lips had moulded into solid frown.

"My dad was on the team first year," Rafe commented.

"Which is exactly why they aren't going to let us do it!" If it was possible, that thought caused her frown to deepen. "Can't show favouritism to _Harry Potter's_ son and niece."

"And nephew."

Bella glared at her brother. "Oh, shut it. You don't want to try out anyway."

Rafe clambered up into the tree next to Bella, choosing to find handholds in the trunk instead of using her quicker but more challenging method. The bark was just rough enough to give him a firm place to grip, and he had very little trouble ascending. "I don't think anyone really likes dad that much anyway." His expression started to mimic his cousin's. "He and mum were arguing about it last night."

"Yeah, we saw the article in the Prophet," said Bella. Her demeanour shifted visibly as she turned a concerned eye in his direction. "But even with that evil witch's yearly report on _How Little "The Boy Who Lived" Has Done for the Wizarding Community_—" Her Rita Skeeter imitation was dead-on…with a little extra obnoxiousness for good measure. "I know there are still people who believe he's a good luck charm of sorts."

"I never said I didn't want to try out," said Bax. He imitated his twin's jump for the tree branch, and then took the hand she wordlessly extended him, using that leverage to pull himself up the remaining distance. "And Bella's right, Rafe. There are plenty of people who still believe your dad can do great things, even if he chooses not to right now."

"Great. So I either have a hard act to follow or a bad reputation to live down."

Bella laughed so loudly that both Rafe and Bax look at her in surprise. She continued to laugh, gripping her branch until her knuckles turned white. When her sudden mirth had passed, she turned her watery eyes to her cousin. "You think you have it bad? Trying being the daughter of the smartest witch of her generation for a year or so, and then come back and talk to me about living up to something."

Rafe glanced back at the house. The adults had just started pouring out the door, arms holding various containers full of food. He watched as his Aunt Hermione conjured up a large picnic table complete with tablecloth, place settings and tiny fountains as centrepieces, and then almost in the same breath shot a spell behind her that stopped the smallest twins in their tracks.

"What have I told you two about mischief around the dinner table?" Her shrill voice carried easily over to the tree that held the three friends.

Rafe turned back to his cousins. He laughed. "Have fun with that. I think I'll keep my luck, thanks."

With that, he hopped out of the tree and took off running for the food. The twins were barely a pace behind him.

* * *

Hermione surveyed the table with a satisfied smile. She would be hard-pressed to find a single scrap of food remaining anywhere. Even Bill had seemed to find his appetite somewhere amid George's monologue on the benefits of Weasleys' Wart Wonder and Molly Rose's uncharacteristic outburst of indignity that she had to wait three more years before starting school. Glancing over at her youngest daughter, Hermione's smile softened – it was the crying that was unlike the girl, not the well-placed enthusiasm for learning.

A small twittering noise awoke her from musings. She looked up to see a Golden Snitch hovering only inches above her head. It was almost as if the little ball was greeting her, for it stayed there for only a few seconds before zooming back to the nearby pitch where it continued alluding both Bella and Harry's grasp. Luckily for Bella, her uncle had not yet seen the Snitch; otherwise the game would already be over. Harry never _let_ his niece beat him, and Hermione was sure that her eldest daughter's skill was due in large part to that mentorship.

Waving her wand and muttering a few words under her breath, Hermione began to clear the table. Bill had already started the same at his end and even offered her a quick grin as he picked up the pace, racing her to the middle, vanishing dishes as fast as their wands could flick. Once they were done, Bill excused himself and went back into the house as his usual sullen self. Still, Hermione felt positively cheery; the war had not been kind to Bill, and the years after no better, so even a tiny hint of his old self was a mood lifter.

Hermione settled back down at the clear table, intending to summon her copy of _Historical Curses and Ancient Charms_ for a little light reading in the warm summer breeze, but she felt her eyes drawn back to the Quidditch game as if someone had summoned her thoughts there. The groups always played adults against kids, despite Hermione's protests in the early years, and she had to admit that Bax, Bella and Rafe were almost able to hold their own these days. Besides, in a few years the youngest twins would be old enough to join the fun, and then the grownups would really have a tough time of it.

The game was played without bludgers, due mostly to the reduced team sizes, and to Hermione's great relief. Fred and George would instead trade off on playing Keeper, sometimes switching in mid-game when it was convenient and they didn't think anyone was paying attention. Only Ginny ever seemed to notice the switch, and she, for once, kept silent about their mischief. The other twin and his sister played Chasers, and Harry, naturally, played Seeker.

The exception to the adults vs. kids rule was Ron. He chose to balance out the kids' team by playing as their Keeper with Rafe and Bax as the Chasers. More often than not someone would joke that Ron really hadn't ever grown up, and that's why he was "stuck" playing in the little leagues. Ron's ears would turn red by default, but Hermione knew he really didn't mind. He relished the time spent with his kids and nephew. And he had no reason to be ashamed of playing on the kiddie team; after all, he _was_ the only one among them who actually had a career in professional Quidditch.

Hermione felt a great swelling in her chest as she thought about her husband and the second love of his life, the Chudley Cannons. The upcoming season would mark his tenth with the team, and Hermione had great hopes that this would be _his_ year. The team had soared to the number one ranked team in the league since Ron began his assistant manager position, and no one was under the illusion that Ragmar Dorkins had suddenly grown a brain and improved his coaching. There had been rumours for years now that he was going to retire and hand the team over to his second in command, and she felt sure that this was finally the time. It hadn't even happened yet, but she was already more proud of Ron than she'd ever been of anything. And that included her own achievement in securing a high security clearance job as an Unspeakable.

Hermione was roused from her admiration by two loud "pops" a few meters away. Unperturbed, she conjured two cups of tea at the spots opposite her, and then turned toward the source of the sound.

"Afternoon Remus, Tonks. I'm glad you were able to come after all."

"I'm sorry we had to owl our apologies so last minute, Hermione," Remus Lupin said. He lowered himself into the chair across from her without bothering to remove his outer robes. She couldn't help but think that age had improved his looks considerably since their first meeting, though much of the credit for that could be given to the witch next to him.

Tonks, unlike her husband, jerked off her travelling cloak as soon as they had apparated in, almost as if it were constricting her movement, despite the voluminous nature of the garment. She also took her place at the table, immediately taking a sip of her tea. She glanced over her shoulder at the match in progress, a wistful expression on her face. "It's a shame we missed everything."

"I do hope everything's alright…." Hermione gave the two a look of concern.

"Oh yes, quite all right," Remus assured her. "Nymphadora had some last minute preparations to which she had to attend." He flashed a grin at his wife, and Hermione thought she detected a blush rising to the witch's cheeks, though it could have simply been the sun reflecting off of her cherry red hair.

"Those better be school preparations you're talking about," a voice said.

This time Remus's cheeks matched Tonks', but he still rose to shake the man's hand then draw him into a hug. "Harry, it's been far too long. For a man of leisure, you've got an awfully full schedule."

Harry's face was serious, but the smile gleamed from his eyes. "Still bitter that they offered me the DADA position first?"

"Only because you didn't take it." Remus's lips twitched for a second before he finally gave in to the grin. "At least now I can take it out on someone."

They all looked toward the open field where the other Quidditch players still milled about, obviously in an animated discussion. Ron's arms were waving about wildly, Rafe following his example. Fred, George and Ginny squared off with them, and they were all still hovering a few meters above the ground, broomsticks bucking with every strong gesture.

"Game over?" Hermione asked, nodding toward the others.

"Ron is insisting that Bax scored six goals, not five, but Fred is sticking by his count," said Harry.

Tonks looked surprised. "The score was that close? The little tykes _have_ grown."

"Nah," said Harry. "We won by two hundred points."

"But that's still fifty points closer than last time," Hermione pointed out.

"Sixty points!" Bella strode up to them, a triumphant grin on her face. "And I saw the Snitch first, but Uncle Harry was just closer to it."

Without warning, Harry grabbed his niece and swung her over his shoulder. She giggled and squealed, squirming wildly, but his muscled arms held her easily. "I'll teach you to disrespect your elders." He started to walk away.

"Don't forget, Harry," Hermione said, suddenly serious. "We need to talk to Remus and Tonks about—"

"I haven't forgotten." A dark cloud passed over his features, but was quickly replaced with his smile. Hermione could tell he regretted the sharpness of his words as soon as they had escaped his lips. "Let me just take this one inside, and I'll be back." He turned back toward the rest of the group. "Rafe, Bax, inside!"

The other eleven-year-olds ran up to Harry before he had gotten more than a few steps. Bax made faces at his sister, feigning innocence when she protested. Ginny and her twin brothers came close behind them. Fred and George had their arms draped around their sister in conspiratorial closeness. Ron was the last in the line, and his arms were full of all the equipment. He tossed a glare at his siblings as he shifted the weight in his arms, but they didn't notice, so he deposited the items in their case before joining the rest.

"Hey!" said Bella in a more serious tone that stopped Harry in his tracks. "How come we have to go inside? You're going to talk about all the interesting stuff without us!"

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but Ginny beat her to it. "You know, on second thought, maybe we should come inside with you. Then I'll be able to confiscate whatever it is Fred and George brought with them for you."

Fred and George exchanged faux-horrified glances, but the look that passed between Bax and Rafe was anything but faked.

"Shut it, Bella," said Rafe, running ahead. "Come on, dad! We don't want to keep you from your _important_ conversation."

Harry laughed and lowered his niece to the ground. "All right, off with you."

Hermione bit her lip. She knew they were waiting for her to speak up, to yell after the kids that they would not be taking any of their new gifts to Hogwarts with them. As much as she wanted to fill their expectations, she simply couldn't make any sound come out of her mouth. There was a tightness in the pit of her stomach like she hadn't felt in years.

Ginny seemed to notice her friend's distress, and a similar expression spread over her face. "Harry, are we sure about this?"

Ginny's voice was barely above a whisper, and Hermione's heart joined the rest of her bodily aches. Who was she to think of her own pain with this conversation looming? Her friend surely had a million reasons in her head why this subject should never be breached with those who didn't already know. Bringing the Lupins into the fold was not only a huge step of faith, but also scary. Hermione could see the moisture shining in the woman's eyes as she breathed slowly, trying to keep her nerves in check.

"You know we have to," said Harry quietly, slipping an arm around his wife's waist.

It was as if everyone had forgotten how to speak. Even Remus and Tonks had been rendered mute by the intensity of their friends' silence. They all watched as the children filed into the house, Molly Rose a little more slowly than the others, as she refused to close her book as she walked. Thankfully, the little twins had long before fallen asleep and been placed on Bill's plush couch. Once the door had closed behind them, Ron settled at the table next to his wife, taking her hand and massaging the knuckles gently. Hermione smiled at him, but her lips trembled slightly.

"I had no idea you had anything this important to discuss," Remus said, taking a slow, deep breath. "You know whatever it is we'll do anything we can for you."

Ginny moved to the table next to him. "We know, Remus. It's just—" She burst into tears before she could even seat herself.

Harry enveloped the witch in his arms. He looked over her shoulder at the group, lips twitching as if to say something. He glanced at Hermione, eyes pleading for her to say what they could not. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Being the one with all the answers could be hell sometimes.

Hermione snuggled into Ron's offered embrace, buckling down for the long evening ahead of them. "It all started with Draco Malfoy…."

* * *

Authors' Notes:

**IF YOU HATE STORIES WITH KIDS** - I understand some people are hesitant to read stories about the next generation (I, worldsapart, am one of these people, in fact), and that one of the main reasons is that the kids are so darn difficult to keep up with. I want to waylay any concerns you may have, dear reader, that you might need to remember every single kid who gets a name. Naturally, you're going to need to know Rafe, Bax and Bella. They have (or will have) their own POV scenes, thus they are important. However, if you start forgetting who the others are, don't worry. When you need to remember them, we'll be sure to remind you of who they are! There are people who JKR mentions in book 1 who don't become important (or minorly important) till much later, and you are perfectly free to forget them until they are important. The same goes for this story.

Hope you guys enjoy reading this (so far) as much as we love writing it. There are lots of twists and turns in store for you, and most of your favorite major characters will have POV scenes throughout. Add us to your alert emails, boys and girls :)


	2. Visiting Hours

Chapter Two

Visiting Hours

(chapter by rainbowwisher)

It was nighttime when he approached the dingy storefront in London, the one that had been closed for refurbishment for as long as anyone could remember. Despite the War, Purge and Dowse, Ltd remained every bit the same as it had ever been. No, that wasn't quite right. Indeed, it had been changed a great deal by the War. In an effort to re-establish the breech between the Muggle and wizarding worlds, however, it had been the first building in London to be completely repaired, inside and out. The same ugly mannequin stood in the window and stared sightlessly out, as it had before during and after the War; its clothes were still terribly outdated.

"Same note, different day," he spoke to the shop window dummy, striking an unremarkable figure as he stood in the orange lamplight. For a moment, he could have sworn there was a slight twinkle to the mannequin's eyes before it nodded once and beckoned with its stiff, outstretched hand. Without turning around to see if anyone was watching him, for no one ever was, Neville Longbottom stepped up to the glass- and then through it. It was a little like walking through a sheet of cold water, but he was long since used to the sensation. Taking a step further, he found himself in the familiar waiting room, with the familiar chairs, the familiar globes of light suspended in the air, the familiar watchwizard and the familiar plump, blonde witch who smiled and waved at him as he moved towards her desk.

"Hullo again, Mr Longbottom," she chirped brightly. The only noticeable sign left of the War was a slightly pearlescent scar that slid a small way down from the bottom of the witch's lip. It was easily missed by most people, but for Neville it was a too real reminder of that horrible time. "Hullo, Mrs Whatley," he said in reply, nodding to her with a faint smile.

"Oh, love, please call me Hildy," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. She insisted every time, but Neville felt it disrespectful somehow. It had been so many years, after all. "You're going to see your parents then, are you?" she continued with a knowing smile.

"Yes, ma'am. I do hope you enjoy the rest of your evening," Neville said, and then he moved past her. It had been a long time since he had needed anything in the way of a visitor's pass. "Such a nice young man," he heard Mrs Whatley comment to the watchwizard. Some things never changed.

Neville climbed the stairs up to the fourth floor, nodding to passing Healers and more ambulatory patients. Most of the portraits' occupants were either sleeping or off visiting somewhere else, leaving the corridors almost silent. It was a good time to come when all one wanted was a relative amount of peace and calm. Up the last flight of stairs he went, until he came to the double doors, the sign above which stated the floor to be "Spell Damage". He pushed the doors open and walked to another door at the far end of the corridor, at which he stopped and rapped his knuckles very faintly against it.

It only took a moment for the doors to come open, and a familiar face greeted him with a pleased smile. The eyes took on a reproving look, however, as the woman behind them stepped to one side to allow him to enter. "I was beginning to think you weren't coming," she said. "Your mother will be so pleased to see you again. She's been looking expectantly at the doors all day long."

Neville cleared his throat, finding it suddenly thick. The woman waited quietly as he regained his composure. It wasn't fair that he could still be undone by so simple a thing, even after all this time. He was faintly aware of a light pressure on his folded arms; her small hand rested there. He smiled feebly at her, mumbling, "Hullo, Cecily," and then nodded towards the end of the room, where his parents beds were- or had been. "How are they getting on today?" he asked, his voice somewhat tight.

"Quite well," came the woman's response, "especially considering their new arrangements. Mrs Longbottom does like the sun, and Mr Longbottom's sage cutting is coming along nicely on the sill. I think he's rather taken with that book you brought him a few weeks ago." She was walking down the room, between the rows of beds around which most of the curtains had been drawn. "You will come say good-bye once you're finished, won't you?"

They had stopped just short of the end of the room, where his parents' beds had been for as long as he could remember. He didn't mind the change, and neither had the Longbottoms. There wasn't much any more that upset them. Neville glanced up, a slightly abashed smile on his face, and he nodded. He watched the woman until she had disappeared behind another curtain further away, and then ducked behind the ones around his parents' beds. His father was already in bed, sound asleep, but his mother was rocking slowly in a charmed loveseat, staring at nothing in particular. He could faintly hear snatches of a song hummed under her breath, but it wasn't anything he recognised. She only looked up at him as he came around the bed and sat on the edge of it.

Neville didn't say anything; he almost never did. His mother put out her hand and patted his knee and smiled absently at him. He looked down at her hand and slowly slid his hand beneath it. Thin skin stretched over knuckles made bulbous and unsightly by old age. They reminded him of his grandmother, whom he still missed. He raised his mother's hand and kissed the wrinkled skin before setting it gently back on his leg. She let out a sigh that may have been of happiness or regret; who could tell, really. Together, mother and son sat in peaceful silence.

It was broken a few moments later by another knock at the ward's door. Another visitor to ward 49, at such a late time? There was a murmur of voices, and then the rustling of robes as someone moved past the curtains. Neville was able to glimpse a pair of very expensive looking shoes as they walked by, but of their owner he knew nothing. His curiosity wasn't as easily piqued as it had once been. He heard the set of curtains next to his parents' being pulled back and heard a man's voice saying, "Good evening, ma'am."

And that was when Neville became aware of the slow rise and fall of a voice that had been so faint that until now his mind had tuned it out. Strange how he had merely dismissed it. Stranger still that he realised it was not the first time he had heard it. It was a woman's voice, murmuring and muttering to herself without ceasing, a low and gentle susurrus.

Neville caught himself listening and, what was more, straining to hear. Knowing instantly that this was inestimably rude, to say nothing of grossly intrusive, he stopped. He could still acutely remember the embarrassment and humiliation he'd felt when the Golden Trio and Ginny had discovered that his parents were there, even if it had been years ago. As he sat with his mother, she who seemed quite content to merely rock back and forth, holding her son's hand (who could know if she was aware of even that) and humming quietly, his own mind began to wander.

"She begins Hogwarts this year," the man's voice came from behind the curtain, breaking into Neville's thoughts so subtly that he wasn't even aware he was listening at first. The low murmur of words changed in pitch and urgency, but the man went on. "We've already been to Diagon Alley for her school things. She began insisting almost as soon as we received her letter. Rather like a certain young man that you used to know."

The man chuckled quietly, but there was a hollow, forced quality to it. Neville could commiserate. How many times had he forced a smile, a laugh, some sentiment he did not truly feel? It hadn't been so bad in recent years, though, not since-

His new train of thought was broken when he heard the gentleman speak again. "Of course, she's looking forward to Potions the most. She's done almost nothing but play with her Young Wizard's First Potions Kit™. You know, the one she received just this Christmas last." Neville smiled to himself, catching the subtle inflection of the man's voice. Clearly the gift had been said to be from the woman. (A close family friend, perhaps? Some victim of the war?) How many presents had he received when he was very small had he thought had come from his mum and dad?

"She may well favour Care of Magical Creatures as well. Her mother does go on so about them." There was a certain note of- what? Frustration? Bemused exasperation? - to the man's voice, but before he could continue the woman's voice rose sharply.

"Lost!" she cried, making Neville's mother start. Her wrinkled brows knit together with worry, and eased only slightly when Neville covered their hands with his other one. As much as he wanted to solely comfort his mother, years in the War had made him wary of anything remotely out of the ordinary- even in a place like this. To this end, he dropped all pretences of politeness and listened hard. Apparently the abruptness of her outburst caused the man to fall silent. "Not lost, not lost," she continued, her voice shrill. "His choice when blackest night is fallen- hope. Hope! HOPE!"

Silence rang through ward, so pressing, so absolute, that for an irrational moment Neville thought he'd gone deaf. His father snuffled in his sleep, then, and turned over, in effect breaking the spell. Sound returned to the ward, the deep and heavy breathing of a deep sleep, the gentle and quiet hum of his mother's half-remembered song. Someone moved past the curtains, but it was obvious that the man had already left the woman's side. Neville could hear his voice speaking with the current matron of the ward. "I'm terribly sorry, Miss, ah-" the man said, his own voice strained.

"Mrs, actually, but please call me Cecily. You do come by often enough to warrant it." Neville could hear the gentle, understanding smile in her voice. He pictured her fingers twitching at her side, seeking to comfort the man as she had done earlier with Neville, but stopping herself. She was so very caring.

"I didn't mean to trouble her," the visitor continued. Cecily murmured something, but it was too quiet to be heard this time. "Yes, of course," the gentleman replied. "I'm sure you're right. She's calm again, at any rate. Thank you again. Good evening."

Neville listened as the man left. The curtains to his parents' neighbour were turned aside and the young woman attended to the poor crazed woman. She had returned to her low murmuring, and soon even that was no more. Neville sat with his mother until she too was asleep, and then he gently levitated her into her own bed. Leaning down over her blanketed form, he kissed her forehead and touched her cheek before turning to his father and taking his hand. "Good night, Dad," he said into the slumbering quiet.

As he left, Neville passed close to where the young woman sat, a few books open around her on a desk. She looked up at him as he called softly to her, "Cecily." The smile that spread across her beautiful face was almost enough to undo him on the spot. He walked to where she sat and watched her stand and walk around the desk, joining him. "You, ah, won't be long tonight, will you?" he asked in a low voice.

"Not terribly," she replied, reaching out to take hold of his hand. Her deep brown eyes stared up at him and her smile deepened as he raised her hand and kissed it. "I'll miss you, though. Kiss the girls good night for me?"

Neville smiled down at his wife. "Of course," he said, and watched as she stood and walked around the desk. She hugged him tight, just around the middle. How odd this life was, when he could be in the same room with his tragically mad parents and the one person in the whole world who could make it feel like it was all right to go on. He kissed the black braids of her hair and then stepped away from her. With a small wave of his hand, he turned and left the ward.

As he walked out into the cool London night, unnoticed by any passing Muggles, he pushed his hands deep into his pockets. Home was a blessedly short distance. He would have to spend plenty of time tucking in his daughters this evening, and planned on spoiling them with any story they wanted. It was with a strong sense of melancholy that he thought about the next day. Every year it became harder and harder to return to work. All the same, at least his girls would be going in a couple of years. Humph, how complicated would that then make his job? Neville chuckled under his breath. Balancing Herbology and those two little handfuls? He could quite understand the reason that most of the professors at Hogwarts never had much in the way of families.

Still, there was absolutely no way he would change it for anything else.

* * *

The Obliquely Odd Cousins were playing on the wireless, their latest single "Stop the Clock Ticking" coming through various objects that had been charmed to act as speakers. A witch danced around the large and open family room, her skirts swirling around her ankles while packages and neatly folded clothes floated around her, faintly pulsing to the beat. She spun to where a very new trunk stood open and directed the school things down into it with subtle movements of her hands. There was something so enjoyable about the Cousins. On the outside, they were this very appealing group of young musicians whose songs seemed about as light and airy as anything else on the wireless- even on the Muggle channels. Just beneath it, however, were these lyrics that would make one stop and think for a long while if one took the time to really listen. There were spells in music. She firmly believed this. One just had to dig deep enough to find them.

From down the hall outside the spacious flat, she heard the ancient lift making its way upward. Reaching just behind her head, she removed her wand from her thick, hastily thrown up hair. She hardly noticed as it fell down her back and over her shoulders. She was far too busy using the wand to silence the wireless; a few deft flicks and various sounds of tea making began to sound from the kitchen just a couple of rooms away. By the time the key rattled in the door, Luna had turned to greet her husband.

Even at first glance, he looked weary. She knew the look far too well. Smiling quietly, she helped him off with his coat, and then hung it next to the door. He walked into the family room and then sat down in what was inarguably his chair. "Long day at work, dear?" Luna asked. He paused in the act of rubbing the bridge of his nose and looked at her blankly. A traitorous smile edged the corners of her lips upwards. "I mean, really, you look like you've been dragged about all day by a Horned Glaarxak."

Her husband gazed at her. An outsider would have said that the look was cold, almost perturbed, but Luna knew him. There was that small flash of amusement in his eyes that told her he appreciated her levity. "Already in bed, is she?"

"I would hope so," Luna retorted, it being her turn to act put-out. "I thought I might have to give her a Sleeping Draught just to do it. Merlin, but she is excited about tomorrow. We ran into Mrs Gillkin, you remember, from Madam Malkin's, at the shops this morning. She simply went on and on about her school robes. You would have thought they were spun by faeries the way she spoke about them."

He smiled despite the evident effort and watched for a moment while Luna levitated a few more things into the trunk. "I thought today would be a good day," he murmured, making her stop and look back at him. There were some things she didn't ask about. If he wanted to talk about it, he would. She had learned a long time ago that he would never change in that regard. His head dropped onto the back of his chair, and he dragged his hands across his face. Letting his hands fall into his lap, he let out a sigh that usually signalled the end of that particular conversation.

"It's just the things she says," he continued, surprising her so much that a fourth set of high quality robes fell just short of their desired resting place. She turned towards him, a subtle and gentle flick from her wand setting the robes to right, and watched him with wide eyes. "Such madness that comes out of her mouth," he muttered. "It's frustrating. And it's all the time. I mean, for heaven's sake, I can't even take our daughter to see her anymore. She's reached the age where a visit to her grandmother would just be upsetting. I so wanted mother to see her at least once more before she went away to school."

Luna sighed very quietly to herself, only a whisper of a breath in the sudden quiet of the room. The last of their daughter's school things packed away, she motioned the trunk closed and then stood for a moment, considering her husband carefully. When she walked to where he sat, he didn't look at her, only continued his doleful gaze at the ceiling. Even as she sat on the arm of his chair, he seemed determined to look anywhere but at her. She touched his neck, however, just below the jaw, and then traced his hairline as he slowly lowered his face forward to give her better access.

They didn't speak; there was no need. There was only the quiet, still comfort of her touch to ease his fear and frustration. The tension slowly left his shoulders. When she was quite certain that her husband's humours had returned to their more natural balance, she leaned down until she was practically looking upside down at him. She smiled broadly at him and poked him directly on the nose. "What would you ever have done without me?"

In the shadows cast by the curtain of her hair, he seemed to seriously consider the question for a moment. "Married wealthy," he drawled with a roll of his eyes. "Been an upstanding member of society. Stuck my head in an oven years ago." At the last, he lashed out and began tickling his wife unmercifully. She, overcome by giggles, collapsed helplessly into his lap. They held each other for a time, then, just being together. All too soon, however, the nasty business of real life intruded in both their thoughts, and they each got to their feet.

Turning nimbly, Luna put her arms around her husband's neck, standing on tiptoe to look him in the eye. "You won't forget, will you?" she asked, looking seriously into his eyes. "And you'll make sure she's safe? Oh, I'm still furious with Dad for pushing up the deadline. Mark my words, he'll wake to find spiny Warktoads in his bed one morning."

He laughed and gave a smile of rare, true amusement. "Of that I have no doubt, my love."

* * *

There were flashes of light, sudden and terrible, that made the earth writhe, convulsing as it was bathed in hatred made manifest. What once had been a glittering and perfect whole was now illuminated as impossible, twisting shapes that offended the senses. The thunder came as whispers in a language so long dead that its meaning had been irrevocably lost. A constant murmur of sound pulsed against the sky, creating a heartbeat that made this place that much more ominous.

The corridors were cold and dank. Darkness wove patterns against the night, making shifting shadows that would have seemed natural in candlelight. There were no candles in this place, however, nothing to illuminate the pressing gloom. It felt like midnight, maybe later; there was no way to mark the passage of time. All the stars had blurred to an indistinct glow, marring the violent sort of purple the sky had become. Smoke curled and billowed from fires that could not die, creating loathsome clouds that rained dust, death and memory down on a war pocked world. Not death, though, not really. There had to be something left living for death to still hold its sting.

Here and there shades twisted and danced through the air, a mockery of the life that once flourished here. A limb would form now and again in the darkness; fingers and hands coalescing, moving in frantic, fevered ways. Faces began to appear, but their features were obscured. It was rather like looking at a very poor reflection in an ancient mirror. A boy with pale skin and dark hair stepped from the shadows. No, that was not right. He came from the shadows, borne out of it like something from a creation myth. A woman came next, her long hair stripped of colour by the dead light that surrounded them. Though her features were still occluded, she retained an air of unutterable loveliness. The figures were coming more and more quickly, and soon the room was positively choked with them. They milled about in an aimless fashion, and seemed to be speaking with one another, though their words were swallowed by the pulsing sounds outside.

The Hatred came on so suddenly that before even one person was able to cry out a warning, half of the room was felled. Their bodies seemed to collapse, and they reverted back to formless shadows before they hit the floor. It was monstrous, the Hatred, a thing so swelling and vile that even the darkness fled from it; and yet the people could do nothing but stop and stare in terror. The woman's mouth opened in a scream, and yet it was only a long quavering note that came out. It floated on the air for a long moment like birdsong, and the Hatred was forced to stop its ingress, as though it had hit some sort of invisible wall. It made a horrible sound, all rage and frustration, and beat against its barrier. Mine! came its thoughts. Do not deny me!

There was a flurry of movement from the watching crowd, and then something long and thin flashed in the darkness. The woman stood alone, her hair now flames that flew out behind her, giving her the appearance of some fierce winged creature. She held a deadly knife in her tightly clenched hands. Eyes that flickered and filled with tears stared down at the dark haired boy, who in turn gazed back with love and trust. "You have to know," she said in a ringing voice that shook the world to its very foundations, "this is the only way!"

The knife came down in a slashing arc, and the universe convulsed in agony and confusion. Above all else, however, there was bitter betrayal; and then there was nothing, only the long, unending Night. This was the most frightening of all.


	3. Old Friends, New Enemies

Chapter Three

Old Friends, New Enemies

(chapter by rainbowwisher)

September the first dawned grey and cool – unusual given the fact that only the previous day it had been bright and blazingly hot. The light seemed thin as it peeked through cracks in the curtain, and, as he came slowly awake, he wondered remotely if he had slept through till winter. As he rolled onto his back, he looked to the other side of the bed and found it distressingly empty. This feeling was fleeting, however, as he remembered the reason for it as he came more awake. Really, Luna's father could be quite maddening at times.

He rose, showered and dressed for the weather. He tried to avoid the vanity mirror as he crossed the room towards the door, but it greeted him with, "Good morning, Malcolm! You look especially out of spirits this morning. Perhaps try the green jumper?" before he could exit the room. He scowled. _Malcolm indeed_. "You there" would have been much less offensive in his state of mind. Still, he lingered in front of the mirror, ignoring its further chatter, and examined his visage.

His hair was still wet from the shower, dark brown and clinging to his forehead unattractively. He brushed at it with his fingers, but nothing he did could make it style quite the way he wanted. Luna found it adorable, but he simply found it irritating. His skin had taken on a sallow tone, though, so he sighed and grabbed a jar from the nightstand and smoothed a bit of soft, white cream across his face. For good measure, he took a little more and raked it through his hair, then checked the mirror again. He didn't like what he saw any better, but his face had become decidedly sharper and brighter. Glamour "Witch" or not, the people who made the stuff knew what they were doing. He replaced the jar.

A clever mantel clock, given to them for a recent anniversary by a mutual friend, stood on one of the chest of drawers in the bedroom and told not only the time, but the current climatic conditions as well. He found himself looking at it, and, quite before he could stop himself, his fingers reached out and marked the grooves of the engraving at the base of the clock. A corner of his lips quirked upward. "_Two different lives_," he quoted softly. "_Two disparate souls. One dizzying, delightful, delirious, destined love._"

Before life with Luna, he would have found such sentiments trite, fanciful; a hopelessly romantic notion. His smile deepened for a moment, and then he left his wistful thoughts with the clock as he left the room. He walked down the hall towards his daughter's bedroom and had paused at her door to knock when he heard movement from the breakfast nook. Brows furrowed, he walked out into the front of the flat. His expression relaxed, however, when he found his daughter sitting at the small table. She was gazing sullenly at a plate of toast in front of her that was largely untouched. "Has your mother gone?" he asked, his voice a low morning rumble.

She never startled easily, his daughter, so he was unsurprised when she simply looked slowly over at him and nodded solemnly. Her cheeks were shining, and he knew that Luna's departure had been marked with tears, doubtless on both parts. He smiled gently at her, crossing the room to touch her cheeks and wipe away the tear tracks. Such things could so easily break a father's heart. It was for this reason alone that he was somewhat glad he had missed their good-byes. Perhaps his father-in-law hadn't had such a bad idea after all.

As neither father nor daughter was particularly inclined to early morning hours, their shared breakfast was a silent one thereafter. Having cleared the table and set the kitchen back to rights, he ushered his daughter into the living room and then began shrinking her trunk and other school things down to an easily pocketed size. All the while she looked gravely on from her seat in his chair, her feet still only barely reaching the floor. Finally, only the pet carrier just next to the door was left un-shrunk, and, as he looked at it, it gave a rough shake. His daughter was to her feet in an instant, and had knelt beside the carrier and making soothing and shushing noises before he had even had a chance to be even slightly annoyed. It was amazing how good she was with animals, something she undoubtedly got from her mother.

With a satchel full of snacks, extra rolls of parchments and quills that couldn't fit in her trunk and a book or two that she would have a very hard time finding in the Hogwarts' library slung over her shoulder and her pet carrier firmly in hand, they left the apartment and descended to the London streets below. A Muggle taxi was waiting for them, all prearranged some days previous, and they slid inside. "Kings Cross, innit," the sallow faced, toothless cabbie asked, merely glancing at them in the rear-view mirror. His brows knit together and he turned back to look at the older of his two passengers. "You all righ', guv?"

Cool indifference was a marked change from the current pain that must have been evident. In his haste to be in the taxi, he had indelicately sat upon his phone which had dislodged certain of his daughter's shrunken school things which were now poking him quite uncomfortably in a place he would have rather not mentioned. With a bit of clever, discrete manoeuvring he managed to set things back to right. He nodded, aware of how ridiculous and strange he must have seemed just then, and said gruffly, "I'm fine. Kings Cross Station, yes. The most direct way possible. We'd rather like to miss the crowds."

The rest of the ride was a silent one, save for the constant knock of the well-worn engine and one small sentence mumbled in undertone: "I still don't see why I couldn't have ridden with my friends." His daughter had muttered it to herself as she faced the window, rather obviously thinking he would not hear her. Quite to the contrary, with a quiet that hadn't anything to do with the background noises pressing in from all sides, there was nothing _but_ that to hear. The driver had apparently not heard it, or he was the model of tact; it was difficult to say really with the constant clack-clack-clack coming from the bonnet. He sighed to himself, and physically bit his tongue to keep from rising to the argument.

This was the final, but not last word on a subject that had been a heated one since his daughter had brought it up at dinner several evenings past. It was the first and therefore the _worst_ fight they had ever had. Only his recollections of himself as an impertinent and cheeky teenaged boy kept him from blurting the things only meant to hurt. It had been a very hard habit to break, lashing out at the people for whom he cared the most. Thank God for Luna, truly.

No, instead he kept his tongue and his temper in check, and, when they had finally reached the already bustling station, he had quite mastered it. He paid the man for his services, even managing to remember a tip this time around, and then he and his daughter walked into Kings Cross. Even with all of the early morning commuters milling about, they had a ridiculously easy time getting to platforms nine and ten. The well-aimed wand in his pocket may have had a touch to do with that. After that, it was a simple matter of leaning casually against the barrier wall and just slipping through to the other side.

Once on Platform 9 ¾, he found his daughter's vociferous past arguments of, "But, Dad, I'll be the only one there," to be rooted in fact rather than mere exaggerated speculation. Truly, the only other living soul on the platform was a lone porter, sitting idly on a stool at the far end. His face was still spotty and the disinterest on it was of a type that he truly despised. He tried very hard not to glare at the man as he approached; his daughter waited just a few feet behind him. She was looking around at the station, a familiar and piercing glare scrutinising every part of the platform. It was good she wasn't paying attention, he thought to himself as he prepared himself to speak to the indifferent man.

He exchanged a few terse words with the porter as he enlarged the pertinent contents of his pockets, and ensured the safekeeping of not only his daughter's school things but also she herself while she waited for the other students to arrive. This last, unfortunately, was only obtained by filling the suddenly obsequious porter's hand with a half dozen galleons and sickles. He turned around to tell his daughter the "good news", but he found that she had already taken a seat next to another little girl who was sitting on a bench against the rear wall. How he had managed to miss seeing her was beyond him.

She was wholly unremarkable, he found himself thinking; reasoning to himself—wondering how his normally keen observational skills could have failed him. Quite harmless in appearance, she was, and looked to be his daughter's age, though beyond that they could not have been more different. Later he would be unable to recall the little girl's face, but for now he looked once into her dark eyes and nodded in a more or less amiable way. Having dispensed with pleasantries, he crouched down low to come face to face with his daughter. She, however, was gazing fixedly at a place just beyond his shoes, her chin shaking ever so slightly. He raised her face gently and stared into her over-bright eyes. "You must promise to be good for your mother and for me, hm?"

She sniffled once, trying to be reserved, and nodded gravely. Such seriousness in a face so young always disquieted him, so he abandoned all pretence and hugged his daughter tight around the shoulders. It didn't take even a second for her arms to come up and fold around his back. They sat like that for some moments, a father gently rocking his daughter as they said their own good-byes, and then he stood. He nodded once more to the black haired girl sitting beside his daughter, though his gaze barely marked her face. There was an inner-struggle as he resisted the urge to chuck it all away and take her back home, where he knew she'd be safe and protected, and then he steeled himself and turned away.

There were no last cries, no loud sobs, no unseemly outpouring of loss or grief as they parted. As he slid back into the Muggle world, he reflected on the first eleven years of his daughter's life. It made him smile. Yes, he thought, he couldn't have raised a better one.

* * *

It was an event, getting everyone to the station in time for the Hogwarts' train. By the time they had arrived in London, the general feeling in the car was one of irritation and frustration. Now, granted, most of that was actually _just_ on Bella's half, but, really, was it entirely necessary to have the _entire_ family there? Maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration, but she still envied Rafe, standing there calmly with his father and mother and not with three million siblings milling about, clamouring for attention.

Molly Rose stood there, holding their mother's hand, tears flowing freely down her face. She could be the biggest baby sometimes, Bella thought to herself as she rolled her eyes. "B-b-but, Mum," her sister was sobbing, "I've read all the first year books and all of _Hogwarts, a History_- twice! I don't see why I can't go!" She stamped her foot impatiently, showing everyone exactly why it was she couldn't go. Her mother shushed her with a look that was both exasperated and understanding at the same time.

"You only have a few years to wait, and then you'll be with your brother and sister in Hogwarts. And I'm sure they'll write all the time, just to tell you how it is."

Her mother looked at her and her brother, and Bella knew she would be risking a Howler or two if either of them forgot. Ah, well, she thought wistfully, at least she wouldn't have to be around her bratty younger siblings until the Christmas holidays- with any luck they might even get to stay at the school. (Bella doubted this very seriously, but figured that one could hope at any rate.) Thankfully before Molly Rose's fit of indignation could grow any more severe, the entire Weasley brood was able to reach the Potters through the mass of students and their parents.

Bella was just about to raise her hand in greeting to her best friend, when her shoulder was rudely jostled by a passing student. She turned to glare at the offending party, a sharp rebuke poised on her tongue, when the person, a girl with long, white-blonde hair, turned back around. "I'm terribly sorry," she called over the noise of the crowd. Already it was bearing her away, and she jumped to make herself heard and seen. "Only my cat's run off! Sorry!" Then she was gone, lost in the throng of people who were already getting on the train. Bella had to admit that a bit of her anger had ebbed at the girl's apology. Maybe it was just her family that had put her in such a foul mood. Next time she was tempted to suggest that they just go with Rafe and his parents.

"Angelina!" she heard her mother cry, and turned just in time to see a woman, about her mother's age, with dark skin and long braids making her way through the crowd to get to their small knot of people. They greeted each other in a wild profusion of hugs, and Bella took that moment to escape to the relative safety of Rafe's side. He and her brother had their heads together and were chatting in undertone. Bella managed to slip just behind Rafe before either of them had noticed, and leaned up to hiss in his ear, "Hide me."

Bax gave her a strange look, and then looked back around to where their mother and father, and indeed Rafe's parents as well, were all speaking to the woman, who had a harassed-looking older student, a boy, in tow. He looked rather like she must have, for when they happened to catch one another eye, each gave the other a tiny smile of sympathy. He, too, managed to slip past her parents' friend and joined them, although he looked rather apprehensive about doing so, as though being caught with a bunch of first years would be mortifying. "Angelina, I had no idea…" Bella heard her mother's voice carry over the sounds of the crowd and the train.

The woman gave a small shake of her head, however, and glanced over at the boy. "He's not," she said. "He's my nephew. My older brother…" She broke off, faltering, and all of the adults exchanged significant looks.

It was a little infuriating. They were probably talking about the War. They all got these Looks on their faces whenever someone brought it up.

"Anyway," the woman spoke again, her tone a bit stronger. "That's Kieran, he's just starting his fourth year." Bella gave the older boy a look of admiration. Their first day, not even at Hogwarts, and they already (sort of) knew a more advanced student. For his part, however, Kieran didn't seem to notice. He was too busy looking around for someone or something.

Apparently he spotted whatever it was, for he turned and waved shortly at his aunt. "Just spotted m'friends, Auntie," he said in a rush, darting back to her side to give her the briefest of hugs. "I'll see you at Christmas, yeah?" And then he had bolted through the throng to join a small group of people near the train. Bella barely got a glance of the bunch of older boys and girls before the crowd obscured them again. That tiny first impression left a small knot in the pit of Bella's stomach. If all the boys in the school were that big and mean looking, she was suddenly not that sure about going.

"… and you remember Ginny, don't you? That's their son Rafe, and these three are mine," she heard her mother saying. "This is Molly Rose and that's Arbax and… Where's Bella? Bella!" Her mother was looking around, frantic, and she was beginning to get that Look on her face again. Bella knew she was a bit smaller than Bax and Rafe, and that her hiding skills were among the best, but really? Why was her mum getting so worked up over this?

Bax slid to one side, and said calmly, "She's just here, Mum. Came over to talk with us."

The woman with the braids was giving her mother a look of sympathy that Bella really didn't understand. Her dad had wrapped an arm around her mother's shaking shoulders, and he was saying things to her that only she could hear. She sniffled a little and, looking a little redder in the face than before, she reached out and pulled Bella closer to her. "As I was saying," she continued, her voice becoming steady once more, "this is Arbella. They're both in their first years. The youngest twins are at home."

"Angelina" appeared slightly bemused. "Trying to give your parents a run for their money, Ron?" She watched her dad go pink around the ears and tried hard not to giggle.

"Twins run in the family," her mother replied a little coolly. She leaned towards the other woman and said in a rather carrying undertone, "I had only wanted four," after which she threw her husband rather fondly frustrated look. The braided lady laughed. Bella was saved from any further embarrassment by the train's whistle going off.

After far too much waving and hugging and crying, Bella boarded the train after Rafe with Bax trailing just behind her. (Her mum had hugged her especially hard; her dad had lifted her into his arms with one of his wonderful "Devil's snare" hugs, only to whisper in her ear, "Do try to give it another couple of years before you really begin to give your mum a hard time, eh," which had completely mystified her.) The trio made their ponderous way through the corridors, going from car to car, until, in a fit of exasperation, Bella grabbed the back of Rafe's collar and pulled her way in front of him.

"You're always like this," she told him after she'd looked back and seen the irritated look on his face. "Thinking about things too much. If we'd kept on, we'd never have got a decent comp- ah-ha!" Somewhere about mid-train, Bella had found just what she was looking for: an empty compartment. Shooting Rafe an I-told-you-so look over her shoulder and with her nose ever so slightly in the air, she opened the door and ushered the other two inside.

Rafe sat at the window and waved brightly at everyone, fidgeting in his seat as he attempted to see his parents and aunt and uncle. Bax sat opposite him and merely looked vaguely amused, as was normal for him. Bella was just putting away her satchel in the overhead compartment when the whistle went off again and the train lurched forward. She was very glad she had a good grip on the edge of the overhead, otherwise she would have been sent sprawling into her cousin's lap.

"What're you doing, Bella?" her brother asked her, even as she pulled down several pieces of parchment, a quill and an inkbottle. She gave him nothing more than a rather shrewd, calculating look and then disappeared behind what she was writing.

"What _is_ she doing?" she heard Rafe ask, at which point she saw Bax shrug in a rather bewildered fashion out of the corner of her eye. Bella smirked and continued with her little project. None of their business, was it? Slightly exasperated, Rafe suggested that they play a few games of wizard chess, knowing full well that Bax had packed a travel set in his things.

The train passed quickly out of the city, which soon gave way to towns and fields and then eventually the open countryside. Occasionally people would pass through their corridor, or peels of laughter would echo through the car from somewhere along the train. Really, the train ride had been entirely enjoyable, save for one instance that occurred just after the witch with the lunch trolley had rolled through.

"Oh, no," Bella heard Rafe groan. She looked over at him, her quill poised just above her third roll of parchment, but he had already stood.

"What's up?" Bax asked; she saw him tear his gaze away from the chessboard where the two sides were pretty evenly matched. This was, what? Their eighth game this trip?

Rafe was striding towards the door, his money pouch in hand. "I didn't give the trolley witch enough Knuts," he replied, going a little flush. Bella opened her mouth to tell him not to bother with it, but he had already pulled open the compartment door and was heading into the passageway. He didn't get very far, however, as he collided with another boy who had been walking through at exactly the same time.

"Watch where you're going," the other boy snarled. Bella tensed, her gaze flying to the door. The boy looked to be their age, if she had to take a guess. His dark red hair just caught on the thin and waning afternoon sun, but it wasn't nearly the fiery red of the Weasley clan, she thought a bit smugly. He had obviously stumbled back a couple of steps, and was brushing down his robes (why the prat was already wearing them was beyond her) and looking thoroughly disgruntled.

"Sorry," Rafe replied, neither sounding nor appearing to mean it. Apparently the other boy caught on, for he looked up towards Rafe once more. She watched his lips part in an unpleasant grin.

Bella had the sudden and extremely strange sensation that she knew how Rafe's dad must have felt whenever people's eyes flicked to his forehead, just to see the scar. It was the same thing the sneering boy at the compartment door was doing now, only this time it was slow and notably deliberate, like he knew how uncomfortable it would make Rafe. And it did. Very suddenly, Rafe's body shifted, and Bella could tell how irritated he was getting, despite his trying not to let it show on his face.

"You _must_ be Potter," the boy said, his voice cutting into the uneasy silence that had settled over the hall and compartment.

Jutting out his jaw some, her best friend replied in a tone of defiance, "Raffalius Potter, yeah." The "What of it?" was left unspoken, but pretty clear. The boy's sneer deepened, and Bella found herself taking an almost instant dislike to him. Who did he think he was, swanning about the train like he owned it, anyway? She felt a hand on her arm and looked back, only just realising that she had started to stand. Bax shook his head minutely, and she settled back against her seat just before the boy looked past Rafe, into their compartment.

"And the Weasleys," the boy went on, upper lip curling back with disdain. "_Of course_."

Bella began to get to her feet again, her mouth opening to retort rudely, but the grip around her arm tightened and she half-glanced back at her twin. Bax was wearing his normal wry, almost-amused expression, gazing steadily at the boy. "Yes, actually," he said in a pleasant enough tone. "I'm Bax, and this is Bella. You are?"

A brow rose on the boy's face, as if he was wondering for a moment if he should deign to reply. "Mordant," came his terse reply as his gaze moved from Bax and Bella back to Rafe, staring coolly into his face. "Devon Mordant." His own jaw came out, almost matching Rafe's own defiance. "This is your first year." It wasn't a question. "Of course, you haven't a hope of being admitted to Slytherin. Never would with _your_ parents."

She saw Rafe visibly bristle. Next to her, Bax muttered a curse under his breath that made her gasp. For a moment, even Rafe looked rattled, but then he spat, "As if I'd want to be a part of a bunch of slimy snakes."

"Devon," a drawling voice came from further down the corridor, "what're you doing?" A blonde girl stepped into view; Bella thought she recognised her. "You said you were going to get a pumpkin pasty for me." Her lips drew themselves into a small pout, clearly meant to charm. She had something cradled in her arms, but Rafe blocked it from where he stood in the doorway. He was staring at her in a way that made Bella embarrassed for him. She recognised the girl, then, as the one who had bumped into her on the platform.

"Would you stop bothering Mr.-" she trailed off and looked towards Rafe with the barest hint of a polite smile.

"Potter," he supplied, reddening slightly. It was to the girl's credit that she neither overtly stared nor did she hesitate overlong before she continued.

"Would you stop bothering Mr Potter, then," she said, "and come back to the compartment? You _have_ to see the thing Jada Templeton is trying to pass off as a raven." Bella had edged upward in her seat, her curiosity getting the better of her as to what exactly the girl had in her arms. She felt at once that the other girl had little room to be speaking ill of someone else's animal, judging by creature nestled in her arms. It looked like a weird serpentine cat, or else a badly disguised dragon.

In fact, it so defied description that Bella found her brain completely blank after just a few moments of looking at it. Then again, it could have also been the panic that had risen in her chest, tightening it as though there were metal binds crushing against her. She was frozen where she was, half-standing in their compartment, her eyes staring without seeing the animal tucked safely in the other girl's arms. _Get it out, get it out, get it out,_ a voice in her head was screeching. She could feel the burn of the swallowed scream at the back of her throat.

They were moving off before Bella had quite realised it, her thoughts still clouded by the troublesome animal, and Rafe had disappeared down the opposite way. She sat back and exchanged a glance with her brother. He had a rather bemused expression on his face for a moment, but then he chuckled as though at some private joke and went back to looking at the chessboard. Moments later, Rafe rejoined them, and, other than a very low "Git" muttered under his breath, they did not discuss what had just happened in the slightest. It was the mark of their friendship that there had been no need; as the animosity had appeared to be universal to all parties (save the blonde girl and, perhaps, Bax – he was just sort of _that kind _of person) it bore no further notice.

Eventually, the lamps were lit out in the corridors, and one of the prefects stopped in and told them to get into their school things. Deep night had fallen outside, and with it came a mound of rocketing butterflies in Bella's stomach. She could not let on to the others (they would poke too much fun), so she changed in silence and then sat down with her parchments again. She had just caught her brother trying to sneak a look over her shoulder, when the train began to slow. They were nearly there; their first year at Hogwarts.

* * *

Authors' Notes:

If you're wondering…we'll be back to more about the adults in Chapter Five.


	4. A New Weasley

Chapter Four

A New Weasley

(chapter by worldsapart)

When the train pulled up to the station, the corridors were already so full of eager students that Rafe, Bax and Bella had to wait until nearly last to get off. The bustle of crowd made it difficult to move, and their hearing wasn't much better. Rafe found himself frantically looking from side to side, throwing in an occasional jump to try and see over the older students' heads.

"Firs' years over here," a voice boomed above all the rest. Rafe turned full around to see the crowd parting for the girth of Rubeus Hagrid. The large wizard had grown out his beard since the last time Rafe had seen him, and it was now nearly as large as his head, hair included, which was no small feat indeed. The man's smile wouldn't have been visible at all if he hadn't been beaming so widely.

"It's Hagrid!" Bella squealed cheerfully, only half a second later. She moved toward him so quickly that Rafe and Bax nearly had to bowl a few people over to keep up with her.

"Firs' year students follow me," Hagrid continued, stopping at a spot that allowed all the new students a good view of him. The older students soon began to disperse, but there was still quite a group crowded around the large man. "Well, Merlin, look at that. Never seen such a flock o' firs' years. All right, everyone follow me. This way."

Despite the man's large stride, the children managed to keep up with him tolerably well. Rafe led them and snaked his way through everyone until they were right behind their guide. He giggled silently at the expressions on some of their fellow students' faces. Rafe couldn't blame them – he'd known Hagrid all his life and was still sometimes shocked at exactly how tall he was.

"No more 'an four ter a boat," Hagrid commanded as they reached their destination. He held each craft steady as the students climbed aboard. It wasn't until they'd piled into one of the small boats with the man that he noticed them. If it was possible, his grin actually widened. "Well if it isn't the Terrible Trio," Hagrid said, clapping Bax on the back so hard that the boy nearly toppled into the water.

"Is it true that we have to swim the last half, Hagrid?" Bella asked as they started the journey across the lake. Rafe could tell she was trying desperately to keep a quaver out of her voice.

"What in the world would give yeh a fool idea like that?" said Hagrid. "O' course yeh don' hafta swim."

"Told you," said Bax.

The giant squid was in a playful mood and decided to tickle a chubby boy with flat brown hair, causing the latter to shriek in shock and then cower in the center of the boat. Rafe could hear the girl next to the boy – he thought he recognized her as the pretty blonde girl he'd met on the train – telling him to not "be ridiculous." There was something in the tone of her voice that made Rafe think she wasn't so sure it was ridiculous, and more than once she glanced behind her to the water, as if she wanted the squid to know she wasn't going to be so easy to catch unaware.

"Cheeky little bugger," mumbled Hagrid with a huff of laughter. Only Hagrid could refer to anything the size of that creature as "little."

Rafe tried to lean over the side to get a better look into the depths of the water, but Bella's firm grip on his arm held him back. "You're rocking the boat," was all she managed to say through her clenched teeth. Rafe was barely able to stifle the giggle that came to his throat. Bax's eye rolling didn't help with containing his mirth.

They arrived in front of the dark, towering castle without further incident. When the heavy doors creaked open, a tall-ish wizard in formal black robes walked into the cooling night air to greet them. He held a lantern above his head, and it cast a soft glow down on a pleasant smile. Rafe thought he recognized the man, but he wasn't sure. His dad knew so many people here that it was hard to keep them straight.

"This is Professor Longbottom," said Hagrid, clapping his fellow teacher on the back with such gusto that the younger man had to stumble forward to maintain his balance. "He'll escort yeh into the Sorting Ceremony. I've gotta put away the boats, but I'll see yeh all in there. Good luck, all." With that, Hagrid's large figure had soon disappeared into the darkness, and the group began to file into the school at Professor Longbottom's direction.

As they walked into the Great Hall, many of the new students let out gasps of amazement at the size of the room or at the enchanted ceiling, but all Rafe could concentrate on was the feeling that hundreds of pairs of eyes were looking at _him_. They weren't, of course, because there wasn't anything particularly interesting about him. He had dark, messy hair just like his dad but had fortunately not inherited the need for vision correction. He was an average height, his ears didn't stick out more than any normal wizard, and his robes were in immaculate shape thanks to the anti-wrinkling spell his mum had cast on his clothes as they'd packed them. But having that many people even look in his general direction was unnerving.

Professor Longbottom led them up to the front of the hall just in front of the teacher's table. Rafe suppressed the urge to wave at the familiar faces, but he felt a little braver when Remus Lupin gave him a quick wink. Soon, however, his attention was drawn away from their audience and down to the shabby, pointed hat that was perched on a stool before them. He thought it looked even less interesting than he did, but all the older students had their eyes now riveted on it instead of the first years.

Rafe was about to lean over and ask Bax if he knew what this was all about, but before he got the chance, a slit in the hat opened up, and it began to sing:

_I am the great Sorting Hat,_

_And though my song is new,_

_Let me tell you something now—_

_Every word I say is true._

_My task is to place each one_

_In Gryffindor or perhaps Hufflepuff,_

_Slytherin or maybe Ravenclaw._

_Yes, I know, very important stuff._

_I search your head for qualities,_

_Be it intellect or bravery,_

_Cunning or the ability to find_

_The good in all our company._

_Rest assured, I promise you_

_I won't discomfort or cause pain._

_Only poke around inside your thoughts;_

_All proper knowledge I must gain._

_For it is only from within that_

_One's true character is found._

_Remember this, dear audience._

_It may help you gain some ground._

_Do not judge your fellow student_

_Poorly just because of looks,_

_Or think because a boy is big_

_His tendency is to throw right hooks._

_Of that same accord, be cautious,_

_Because the reverse is also true;_

_The sweetest smile or prettiest eyes_

_Might mean some harm to you._

_So on this note, I'll end my song;_

_My work here is nearly done._

_Until next year, I bid you adieu._

_Now on to student number one!_

The entire hall erupted into applause as the hat went silent again, and Rafe heard several whistles and cheers mixed in. Professor Longbottom stepped up with a piece of parchment in his hand. He cleared his throat, picked up the Sorting Hat, and then said, "Appleton, Ginger. Please step forward."

A bouncy girl whose hair was not the bright red her name implied, but instead a shiny brown, stepped forward with more enthusiasm than Rafe knew he would be able to muster. She sat down on the stool, and Professor Longbottom placed the hat on her head.

Rafe watched in curiosity as they sat there in silence for a few seconds, the girl and the hat. Then the slit opened once again and shouted, "RAVENCLAW!"

That house's table cheered loudly as the girl skipped over and took her seat. She was lucky to find a spot, Rafe thought, his gaze sliding over the four long tables. There didn't appear to be many empty seats at any of them. What would happen if they ran out of seats before they got to him? Or to Bax and Bella? They were all the way at the end. Would Professor McGonagall just step up and say, "Sorry, try again next year?"

Applause from the Slytherin table roused him from those thoughts as "Barnam, Edgar" took his seat. The Slytherin table had more places to spare than any of the others, he noticed on closer inspection. Good, thought Rafe. The less of them, the better. He didn't really know any Slytherins, of course, but his dad had never spoken favorably of them, and his dad rarely exaggerated such things.

"Blake, Xavier," Professor Longbottom announced.

"Can you believe this?" Bella whispered in his ear as Xavier made his way to the Ravenclaw table. "And all these years Uncle Fred had us believing it was going to hurt a lot."

Rafe shook his head but was unable to make his mouth open in reply as "Bowman, Rachel" took her seat with the Ravenclaws. He watched "Darton, John" became the first Gryffindor, and "Frost, Jessica" the first Hufflepuff. There were a couple of others in the mix, but he found that the constant clapping had started to dull his senses. His gaze wandered back up to the staff table where all the professors had neutral, but pleasant expressions on their faces. Most of them had been guests in the Potter household at one time or another over the years.

"SLYTHERIN!" This time the hat was louder and more emphatic than usual, and it caused Rafe to pull his eyes away from an unfamiliar man seated on the far end of the staff table. The boy joining the snakes' table was none other than the jerk he'd met on the train, Devon-something. Rafe hoped that the narrow-eyed glare he was throwing at the boy's back wasn't terribly obvious to anyone else.

"Potter, Raffalius."

It took a second for the name to register in Rafe's head. His legs began to move toward the stool, but he could have sworn that he hadn't told them to do so. The quiet murmur of the students was growing steadily louder, but to his ears it was only white noise meant to cover the thunderous beating of his heart as he sat down. When he felt the hat settle over his head, it was only with concentrated effort that he didn't flinch from sheer nerves.

"Ah, yes," said a small voice in his ear. "I was wondering when I'd see you here, Mr. Potter. Hmm, yes, quite a bit of your parents in you, I see."

"Then I can go to Gryffindor, right? Surely that means you can't put me anywhere else," Rafe thought at the hat, clinching his eyes tightly shut, despite their being covered by the rim of the hat anyway.

"Not so fast, young man," the Sorting Hat said in his head. "I make the decisions around here. There are some things in here that I'm not sure you even realize. Dark things. Still," it said, pausing for what Rafe thought must be dramatic effect, "I think…."

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Rafe plastered a grin across his face as he made his way to the table, thankful to see that there was still space on the bench for him. In fact, there seemed to be no less space than there was after the first student had joined the table. He felt a little silly at the relief that flooded through his veins. _Of course_ the tables were charmed to hold as many students as needed. But it wasn't really this that held his thoughts. What did the Sorting Hat mean that there were "dark things" in his head that he didn't realize?

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Primrose, Ariana," a tiny girl with dirty-blonde pigtails, did a little twirl before joining her classmates. Surely he didn't have any more darkness within his soul than she did, Rafe thought, scrunching up his eyebrows. He wondered if the hat had said anything so cryptic or troubling to anyone else. They didn't _look_ upset, but then again maybe they were smart enough to ignore comments made by talking hats.

"Longest bloody sorting in the history of time, eh mate?" said a voice to his right. He was speaking well above a whisper, but the general volume of the room had risen enough to merit the less-secretive tone.

Rafe turned toward the voice to see a burly boy who had come in on the boat next to his. He thought of the Sorting Hat's song and pictured the boy swinging a fist at Devon the Snake's head. He grinned. "It does seem to be taking an awfully long time."

"Largest incoming class in Hogwarts history," said the boy. "Or so me mum says." He chuckled a little and stuck out his hand. "Gregmore Hopkins. Call me Greg."

"Rafe."

They chatted for a few minutes, joining the throng of restless students that was becoming more and more pronounced with every name Professor Longbottom called. The names were a cacophony of sounds, each student moving to his or her table a blur of movement. It wasn't until after "Singh, Alistair," an Indian boy with spiky hair, sat down across from him that he realized how far they'd gone through the alphabet. All the same, he was surprised at how many students were still standing at the front of the room.

"Smith, Meliadora."

Rafe's attention was recaptured when he recognized the pretty blonde girl from the train approaching the Sorting Hat. She wore the same calm smile he'd seen before, but there was definitely nervousness about her as she nearly missed the stool. A deep blush rose in her cheeks as the hat settled down over them. This time the hat seemed to think a little longer before shouting—

"SLYTHERIN!"

The girl's smile grew as she walked to her table, but Rafe felt his heart sink. She had seemed nice enough, despite her association with Devon the Git. It was such a shame she'd be wasted in that house. Still, he couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, she could do a _little_ good by turning his general opinion of the Slytherins for the better. Maybe he could make a tiny exception for her.

There was such quick succession of S and T names that Rafe could barely keep up. It didn't help that it was becoming difficult to hear the names being called over the general chatter in the room. Smott, Sneed, Solomon, Spelling, Swann, Switzer, Sylvester, Taylor—or was it Tyler—Templeton, Tisdale, Trumble, Turner…. Greg's mum must have been right. Rafe couldn't imagine the original headmaster would have designed such a system if he or she had known it would be such a lengthy ceremony.

It seemed like a million years before he finally heard "Weasley, Arbax" being called. Bax strolled up to the stool in his usual casual manner, and the hat had barely touched his head before it shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!" Bella followed, and she actually shouted "GRYFFINDOR!" along with the Sorting Hat and was rewarded with a chorus of laughs from her housemates.

Rafe felt his muscles relax as the twins joined him at the table. He hadn't realized exactly how tense he'd been. How would he have survived school if they had been split up? "I don't know what you had to pay the Sorting Hat to keep you out of Slytherin, Bella," Rafe started. "But I—"

"Weasley, Elise."

The rest of the room was still a chorus of restless laughter and conversation, but the air around the "Terrible Trio" was suddenly bathed in cold silence. They watched as a thin girl with dark hair and deeply shadowed eyes stepped up for her sorting. The hat settled onto her head, and the girl sat very still, her hands gripping the edge of the stool tightly, as if she was afraid she'd fall off.

When the hat had not made a decision for at least a minute or so, some of the other students started to take notice, and the room became markedly quieter. Bella looked at Rafe and her brother, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Rafe knew he had a similar expression on his face. Another Weasley? His Uncles Fred, George and Bill had never married nor otherwise had children. Uncle Charlie had married last year, but didn't have any children yet, and besides was still in Romania. That only left—

"HUFFLEPUFF!" The Sorting Hat shouted.

"I didn't realize you guys were triplets," said Greg. "You sister doesn't look anything like you two."

"That girl's not our sister," said Bella. "Bloody hell, dad's going to have a stroke when he hears about this." The murmurs were growing louder again with the appointment of "Williams, Leslie" into Slytherin. "Aunt Ginny, too."

"I'm going to have a stroke if this isn't over soon," commented an older girl who was seated on the far side of Bella. There were answers of assent from all sides.

The torture finally ended a few minutes later as "Zane, Juliet" rounded out the Gryffindor table for an even twenty-two new house members. She got the loudest cheer of the evening, but it wasn't strictly her own house whooping for joy. The entire gathering of students, and even some of the teachers, joined together in a round of relieved applause.

Professor McGonagall stepped up the podium as Professor Longbottom took away the stool and the Sorting Hat and took his place at the staff table. She was the image of stern control in her tightly knotted hair and pointed hat, but there was softness to her voice as she said, "Welcome to Hogwarts all new students, and welcome back all returning students. In light of our _invigorating_ start, I will not even tease you with the pretense of launching into a speech. You may tuck in."

With her words, the middles of each table filled with more food than Rafe could imagine them finishing in two weeks, much less a single evening. He stifled a yawn as he dove for a heap of roast chicken and then spooned a large helping of boiled potatoes next to it. Even Bella and Bax seemed to have forgotten about their new "sibling" in favor of Yorkshire pudding, steak, carrots, lamb chops and every other good thing one could imagine. Across the table, Alistair Singh piled at least ten kilos of chips onto his plate and nothing else. Rafe tried to swallow his food and then open his mouth for some conversation, but his fork kept finding its way back with more food. The hall was bathed in an almost unnatural silence after the chaos of the last two hours gave way to filling their bellies.

"So you're Harry Potter's kid, huh?" said Alistair after an extended period of only chewing and swallowing. He almost immediately doubled over as the girl next to him elbowed him in the stomach, but his spiked hair didn't even wiggle. He raised an eyebrow at her and looked around the table. "What? You know everyone wanted to ask. I just got it out of the way early so we can move on."

Rafe had to grin as he watched Alistair pop a handful of chips into his mouth. "Yeah. These are my cousins."

"We're _Harry Potter's_ niece and nephew," Bella said, fluttering her eyelashes the way she always did when she was being sweetly sarcastic. Most of the time Rafe found it annoying, but every once in a while it was funny. Usually when it wasn't directed at him. Then she squealed. "Oh, Dessert!"

Indeed, one by one the dinner entrees were being replaced by every delectable treat under the sun and moon. Rafe dove for an apple tart as he said, "Do you think this year's going to be hard? I heard we have more classes than usual. My trunk's crammed full of books."

"Me mum says it's because our year is so large," Greg said, dishing a healthy helping of trifle onto his plate. "They had to rearrange the curriculum to accommodate us."

Bella looked at him as if he'd just said Professor McGonagall had three heads.

"It means we're taking different classes than normal first years," said Bax in an undertone, leaning slightly toward his twin. Rafe didn't manage to hold back his laugh this time around.

"I know what it means!" snapped Bella. "I was just remembering dad saying the exact same thing is all. I thought it was a weird coincidence."

"It was in the Prophet last week," said the older girl next to her. She smiled widely and gave them a little wave. "Sorry, couldn't help but overhear. Name's Veronica Shipley. I'm in fifth year."

"Congrats on the Prefect badge, Ronnie," said Alistair. When Veronica thanked him and turned back to her friends, he gave one of the shrugs that seemed to be his trademark. He pointed down the table to an exotic raven-haired girl who seemed to be his opposite in both looks and demeanor while still looking strangely similar. "That's my sister, Elsbeth. She's a Prefect, too."

Rafe was about to ask if any of the others had brothers or sisters in the school, but Professor McGonagall took that moment to step back up and clear her throat. This time she found a much more receptive audience. Many of the younger students were so well fed that they were falling asleep at the table, and the lateness of the hour didn't help. The boy who'd been harassed by the squid earlier was a few seats down from Rafe, snoring into his plate of chocolate biscuits.

"I just have a few announcements as we start our new year together. First, our first year students should know that, for safety reasons, no student should venture into the Forbidden Forest without being accompanied by a teacher.

"Mr. Filch would also like me to remind everyone that, despite this year's addition of their relations to our student body, all products produced by Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes Inc. are expressly forbidden within these walls."

"Good thing he doesn't know about their new line," Bax whispered to their small group. Several people leaned forward. "Gobshaw's Generic Gags. It's a whole line of items that show one of five hundred different fake brand names if confiscated by a teacher. Guaranteed to be completely unidentifiable as a Weasley product."

Rafe could tell several of them were filing this information away for later. He was sure Bax had just solidified his place as the coolest kid in the first year.

"Next, I would like to introduce a couple of new additions to our staff this year. Nymphadora Lupin has graciously accepted the role of Professor of Transfiguration after Professor Didwell's retirement last year."

Tonks – well, _Professor Lupin_, he realized he'd have to start saying – stood up and gave a little bow to the polite clapping which filled the hall. He almost hadn't recognized her without her pink hair, but the wide grin and pronounced blush gave her away.

"Also joining our staff this year is Professor Mohinder Meravi. He will be filling the position of Potions Master."

The man Rafe had noticed earlier, sitting at the far end of the staff table, stood and nodded slightly. He wasn't exactly smiling, but his expression was pleasant enough. His dark tan skin and longish black hair combined with his black robes would have made him almost disappear into the dim corner of the room if it hadn't been for the shining whites of his eyes.

"And finally," McGonagall continued, a serene smile softening her heavily-lined face, "I would like for you all to have a good year. Now, it's only the first day, and we're already behind schedule. Off to bed, everyone. Classes will begin tomorrow at nine sharp."

Have a good year. Rafe smiled as he saw the Prefects beginning to stand and call their respective first years. He thought he was off to a pretty good start.

* * *

Authors' Notes: 

We're making steady progress – yay! Rainbowwisher and I worked a lot today on our overall story arc for the seven books, and things are really shaping up. Gotta love it when the characters and plotlines just speak to you. Needless to say, this story is off to a good start, but get comfortable, because you're in for a long, fun ride.


	5. For Progress's Sake

Chapter Five

For Progress's Sake

(scene 1 by worldsapart, scene 2 by rainbowwisher)

"I don't believe it," Remus repeated for at least the hundredth time since they'd gotten back to their rooms that evening. He turned to see his wife fiddling with the clasp on her dress robes and reached to help her. "You know she's got to be his. Oh, Molly would be beside herself."

Tonks didn't reply. Her eyes were firmly fixed on Remus's fingers as they unfastened and then removed her robes to reveal a very un-Tonks-like maroon and gold dress. Her hair, which had been a very sleek raven black throughout the start of term feast, shifted back to its natural mousy brown. Remus felt a small jolt through his heart – he hadn't noticed she was upset.

"Darling, what's the matter?" he said, immediately dropping the robe. It pooled on the floor at her feet. Any other time he would have worried that she might trip over such an obstacle, and would thus pick it up immediately, but right now the expression on her face was all that worried him.

"It's nothing, Remus." The slightest pink tinge grew in her cheeks. "I'm okay."

"Nymphadora…" he replied, a warning tone in his voice. She most certainly was not okay.

"What if they don't like me?" Tonks suddenly burst out, all semblance of emotional control gone. "How can she expect us to mentor these children? It's too much pressure!"

Remus pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her as he rested his cheek on top of her head. "You are going to be fine. We've been through this."

Tonks pulled back enough to look her husband in the eye. "You think I'm being silly."

"I think you're a lot of things, my dearest. Silly is certainly not one of them." His eyes twinkled with humor.

Tonks pushed away from him, a furious expression on her face, and began pacing the room. Remus's eyes flicked involuntarily to the cloak still crumpled on the floor. Every pass across the room brought her within inches of it, but she was too busy waving her wand wildly to notice it. He finally couldn't stand it any longer and bent to retrieve the item, just managing to grab it while her back was turned. The last thing he wanted was to vex her further by bringing up her clumsiness.

"—got over a decade of teaching experience," Tonks was saying, her hair gradually shifting to a fiery red that would have made the Weasley's proud. "And what have I got? Ten years as a retired Auror pulling freelance jobs when the mood suited me."

"Nymph—" Remus started. He snapped his mouth shut at the blazing look he received. It was with playful resignation that she had finally given him permission to use her full name, but there were still moments when even he knew better.

"How can they expect that I'm at all capable of this?" He saw a tremble beginning to creep into her lips as she spoke. Her steps began to slow. Her arm movements looked less like she was practicing violent curses and more like she was trying to wave down a rescuer.

Remus kept his mouth shut and waited for the inevitable collapse of her meager composure. It wasn't the first time in the month since her professorship had been confirmed that she had gotten worked up with worry, but this was definitely the worst episode. Only the day before she had let her nerves get the better of her as she finalized her trunks for the journey, and that had nearly had to miss the party at—

"Oh, I should have kept up my training!"

He looked at her sharply. Realization hit him like a full moon on a clear night. He immediately stepped in front of her and placed his hands firmly on her shoulders. She only resisted for a second before she stopped her ranting and fixed her eyes firmly on her shoes. She swiped angrily at the single tear that had placed itself in the corner of her left eye.

"There's nothing to be afraid of," Remus said softly.

"I'm not scared," she replied defiantly, still not meeting his eyes.

"Nym—Tonks." When that name finally drew her gaze and along with it a look of surprise, he kissed her forehead quickly. While the nickname was common amongst her friends, Remus usually only used it when he was angry. This time he wanted to be sure she knew he was merely deathly serious. "You have nothing to be afraid of," he repeated with a firmness he wasn't quite sure he believed.

"Remus," she started. He could tell she was stubbornly holding back the tears that were threatening to fall. "I don't know if I can go back to the way it was."

"It's never going to be the way it was."

"How can you be so sure?" She turned as if to resume her pacing, but his grip on her shoulders didn't falter. She relented and fell into his embrace, whispering into his ear, "I _am_ scared."

He held her for a minute, relishing the silkiness of her hair against his cheek. When he finally pulled back, there was a small, but determined smile on his face. "Think about it this way. If they hadn't told us, we'd be off guard. Now we have time to prepare. And you aren't as out of practice as you think you are."

Tonks offered him a tiny smile and opened her mouth to continue the conversation when there was a knock at the door. A moment later Remus let Minerva McGonagall into the room. She was still wearing her emerald green dress robes, but she had removed her long, pointy hat, and her air was decidedly more relaxed.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," she said, looking at each of them in turn with a gaze that made the two glance away to escape its appraising.

"No, Minerva. Please, have a seat." Remus gestured toward a small seating area. Their quarters were by no means grand, but he appreciated their coziness all the same. Now that he had his wife with him…. He glanced back at the witch, who was taking the moment to get her emotions under better control. She had been _his_ for a very long time now, but there was still a satisfaction in finally having the legal title after all these years. It had been that event only six months earlier that had given her the final push to accept her current job.

"I have two purposes for my visit this evening," McGonagall began as soon as the Lupins had joined her in sitting. Remus was relieved at her initiative, as he wasn't sure that either he or his wife was prepared to strike up any topic they were allowed to discuss. "First, I wanted to welcome you, Nymphadora, to the staff. I believe that I will enjoy working with you once again."

Tonks returned the older witch's smile. "I know I've put you off all these years--"

"Oh, tut-tut," said the other woman with a wave of her hand. "You were perfectly right in refusing me. There were far more important things on your mind." She glanced at Remus with a knowing smile. "Still, you can't blame an old woman for trying. Selfish motives or not, I've always believed you were one of the few witches in the world who could live up to my high standards and also not hate me for them."

"Poor Professor Didwell never did get used to you," said Remus with a short snort of laughter.

"No, I'm afraid not. Though, the poor dear was uncharacteristically pleasant once I agreed to accept her resignation at the end of last term."

"I'm very happy you've given me this chance, Minerva, even if I'm not as confident as you in my abilities," said Tonks.

Remus noticed that she was turning her wand over and over in her hand, a sign that she had certainly not calmed down completely. He knew it would be best if he could usher the headmistress off as quickly as possibly, but that was easier said than done. The lady had settled comfortably into her seat as if she intended to enjoy a long evening with them. Most nights they would have welcomed it – it certainly wouldn't be the first time the three of them had shared serious conversation, usually followed by a small kip of brandy – but tonight's topic, unfortunately, forbid their inclusion of the woman.

"And what was the second thing?" Remus asked. He didn't allow his voice to give away his impatience for her departure.

"Well, that is the matter of most importance," McGonagall said, shifting further up on the chair. The edges of her mouth bent downward in a frown that confessed her subject was one she did not wish to discuss but could not avoid. "As I'm sure you're both aware, having Raffalius Potter starting here this year is bound to bring a resurgence of attention to the school and our curriculum."

Remus heard Tonks draw in a sharp breath, but thankfully the headmistress did not seem to notice. "What on earth does Rafe have to do with our lessons?" he asked, his eyebrows crinkling up in confusion.

"Everything, apparently." It was evident from the snort that escaped her tight lips that McGonagall didn't believe a word of it. "The school governors are starting to get twitchy. They seem to think the additional media attention combined with the populace's unhealthy obsession with his father's choice to remain out of the public eye entirely…well, they are worried that the current trend in groundbreaking lawmaking will begin to make Hogwarts seem _old-fashioned_. They have decided to take matters into their own hands."

"In what way?" he asked as he absentmindedly reached over to caress Nymphadora's knee. There was the slightest tremble in her leg, and he tried his best to sooth her with a firm hand and a tiny smile.

"I believe you noticed our last minute staffing addition," the elder witch said with evident effort to keep a less-polite tone out of her voice. "He is to be, how did they put it, our 'path to the future,' and despite my most fervent supplications otherwise, he is here."

"What are you reservations in the appointment? Other than the obvious," Remus added with a quick grin. Minerva disliked interference in her methods less than any other witch or wizard he knew, and while she could come across as cold or calculating, the school had certainly not suffered under her leadership. In fact, it had flourished.

"I don't trust him. Mohinder Meravi was a Death Eater, and even though it was proven that he was under the Imperius Curse, there still is no certainty that the test would work on a—"

"A djinn," Tonks said quietly. She glanced at Remus and then continued. "I remember now. That's why his name sounded so familiar. He was convicted, wasn't he? Served a year or so in Azkaban."

The headmistress nodded but allowed the other woman to fill in the blanks.

"Then the Ministry concocted that potion to put the certainty into those convictions, and they identified at least a dozen people and released them." Tonks spoke slowly, remembering.

"A lot of good it did him," Remus interjected, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. He did, however, win the fight to at least keep his volume down and his tone even. The last thing he wanted was to further agitate the witch who ultimately had to share his bed that night. "The controversy over what he was nearly killed his family."

"And that's exactly why I need your help, Remus," said Minerva, smoothing her robes with one hand – a gesture she often repeated when she was worried. "I've spent far too many years of my life on the front lines to begin giving the benefit of the doubt to former Death Eaters, however innocent they might turn out to be. I can be civil and fair, but that is where my patience ends."

He glanced at his wife, wondering if she were thinking the same as he was: their jobs had just gotten one person more complicated. It wasn't enough that they had lessons to plan and a house to mentor – since Minerva had asked Tonks to join her husband as co-head of the Gryffindor house, despite having been in Hufflepuff herself – but now they had a teacher to watch in addition to Rafe Potter. Still, he had no good reason to refuse. He knew more than anyone how it felt to be judged for what you were instead of on your actions alone.

"I would be delighted to make his acquaintance," Remus said after a moment's hesitation.

"Excellent," said McGonagall, rising from her seat. "Then I will leave you to a good night's rest. I have a feeling you're going to need it."

As soon as the headmistress had gone, Tonks turned toward Remus and shook her head. "We're going to need a lot more than rest if we're going to make it through the year."

"Everything is going to be fine," he reiterated, as much for his own sake as hers. He was really beginning to wonder….

* * *

Having been escorted to the Gryffindor tower – and what a headache inducing maze that had been – the first year boys had found their assigned dorm, their trunks already at the foot of their beds and their beds turned thoughtfully down. Although yawning and stretching when they had first arrived, a nervous sort of energy rose within the room that put any thought of sleep out of mind for the moment. All around Bax, the other boys were taking things out of their trunks: books, clothes, cauldrons, bags, etc. 

He watched bemusedly as a small white mouse scurried into view from beneath a bunch of clothes that…Greg? Was that his name?…had just put on his bed. "Oi! There you are," the large boy called out, diving across his bed to grab the creature. "Thought I'd left you at home."

Greg looked up and noticed Bax watching him. He seemed to think for a moment, deciding whether or not he liked the look on Bax's face. He grinned, however, and put the fist holding the mouse out towards Bax. "This is Cicero. He's supposed to be home." Greg smiled fondly down at it. "Cheeky."

Bax chuckled quietly and continued to remove things from his own trunk, glancing around to see what anyone else might be doing. A couple of the boys were putting up posters of their favourite Quidditch teams. Alistair had taken out a huge poster of a band Bax had never heard of, "Pixie Pox", and was putting it over his headboard. A dour looking pixie was staring out, occasionally making rude or lewd gestures. Bax had to wonder how long it would take for someone to ask him to take it down. He had never heard of dorm inspections before now – his mum and dad certainly had never said anything – but he doubted that the poster would be long for the world if they did have them. He tore his gaze away from the lurid colours with considerable effort, and glanced over towards Rafe to find him staring at the poster as well.

They caught each other's eye and Bax saw his cousin stifle a laugh behind his hand. Next to Rafe, a skinny, bespectacled boy whose name Bax could not remember to save his life was taking far more books from his trunk than all of the other boys combined. His bed was covered with them. A low whistle from Alistair's side of the room caused Bax to look over, only to find that the dark skinned boy's gaze had fallen to the stacks of books as well.

"What's all that then, Ned?" Alistair asked, sauntering towards the smaller boy's bed. He picked up a book at random and read the spine. "_Standard Book of Spells: Year Three_." He paused and stared up towards where Ned stood on the other side of his bed. "Year Three?"

The boy gave an uncomfortable shrug, and Bax felt a momentary stab of sympathy for him. "I just want to stay caught up." Ned's mumbled response was barely heard from across the room. Bax couldn't help the smile that barely lifted the corners of his mouth; his mum had been just like that, from all the accounts his dad and uncle gave him.

Alistair, whose hair still made Bax blink in disbelief from time to time, glanced over to where he and Rafe stood watching, and grinned broadly. "You met Potter and Weasley yet, Ned?" he asked, slowly turning back to the other boy. Ned shook his head 'no', at which point Alistair's already face splitting grin became impossibly wider. Indicating each of them with a lazy wave of his hand, Alistair said, "Nedalus Inglebot, meet Raffalius Potter and Arbax Weasley."

"Call me Rafe," his best friend was quick to amend. "And he prefers Bax." Bax gave a sincere shrug of indifference, and then crossed the room to where Ned stood and put his hand out to him. It was a new start, Bax reasoned to himself, might as well make with the niceties while no one's preconceived conceptions had yet cemented them. As for Ned, Bax had seen the glimmer of name recognition of their last names at least, but he had only looked shyly on. The other boy glanced down at the offered hand, as though uncertain as to what to do with it, and then tentatively reached out and gave it a cursory shake.

"Ned," the other boy modified his introduction in a carrying undertone. He stood awkwardly in front of Bax for a moment, and then turned back to his book strewn bed. Bax understood that while he had not been dismissed, per se, his presence was no longer as welcome as it had been a moment before (if, indeed, it had really been welcome at all). As he turned and walked towards the other side of the room, his eyes caught on the poster over Alistair's bed again and he stared it for several seconds before compelling himself to finish his brief trek. Again, in the back of his mind, he wondered if they might not get in trouble if the staff decided to do any sort of dorm inspection.

The door to the dorm room opened again, and the sixth occupant of their room made his arrival. Bax looked up to see the blond boy enter, take a cursory look around, and then walked to the only bed left. Out of the corner of Bax's eye, he saw Greg look up from his care of the small white mouse and grin. "Rawlins!" Greg exclaimed, causing the newly arrived boy to jump and look swiftly at him. "What happened to you, there? Thought you were right behind me."

"Was," the other boy replied, a certain bitterness to his tone. He frowned and threw open his trunk. It hit the foot of his bed with a loud thunk, but he ignored it in favour of pulling out a few small books and his pyjamas. "Got waylaid by Peeves, didn' I? Missed a trick step then, got on the wrong staircase an' wound up at the Ravenclaw tower. Had to get shown back here by Filch. Kept muttering about givin' me a detention, didn' he. He's a laugh though, innit? This place needs a bloody map," he finished sourly.

"Aw, mate, that's too bad," Greg replied, although Bax noticed that the edges of his lips were twitching a bit. The other boy missed this, however, as he was hurrying into his pyjamas. Greg happened to look over and caught Bax's eye. Before Bax could say or do anything, Greg nodded to the newest arrival and said, "That's Edward. He and I grew up in Sussex together. Been my best friend since we were five. Bit of a lark, us both being chosen to come to Hogwarts. Me mum says it's pretty rare and that we should count ourselves lucky. 'Specially since Ed here is Muggle born."

As Bax looked on, the blond boy, Ed, threw Greg a scathing look as he climbed into bed. He parted his lips to reply, but before even a sound could come out, there was a hurried knock on the door. Without waiting for an answer, however, the door was thrown open; it banged against the stone wall, causing the wood to rattle. Bella was standing there in her dressing gown, a look of fury on her face, and behind her another smaller figure stood huddled in her shadow. She took two steps into the room and then stopped, taking a swift look around.

A sound like a high-pitched squeal and then a dull thud made Bax look across the room. Ned, poor soul, his trousers just around his ankles where they had fallen as he had prepared to dress for bed, had apparently started so badly at Bella's entrance that he had tripped over his trousers and fallen to the floor. Even from where Ned lay, Bax could see the red of the other boy's blush. He heard a faint snort of laughter and looked over in time to see Alistair smirking towards the other boy and casually pulling on his pyjama top, apparently in no real hurry to make himself a bit more decent. All of this was pushed aside, however, as worry flared in Bax's stomach at the sight of his sister in such obvious distress.

Bax could categorically state – and this after examining a brief string of memories – that he had never seen Bella angrier. She stalked into the room, ignoring Ned's repeated attempts to extricate himself from the floor and his imprisoning trousers. (Bax knew for a fact that, had she been paying attention, she would have been trapped in a helpless fit of giggles; so much the better for Ned.) Bella walked to Rafe's unoccupied bed and flung herself onto it, landing to sit towards the edge of it. She curled an arm around one of the four posters and glowered at any who dared meet her gaze. "Bella," Rafe said slowly, "what's up?"

Quiet as a shadow, the girl that had been following his sister went across the room and joined her meekly on Rafe's bed, though she looked ill at ease doing it. The girl had mousy brown hair that fell in thick curled curtains around her face. She peered out from behind her hair with a certain nervous curiosity. Bella broke off her intense glaring when she noticed the other girl had joined her. Bax had to give it to his sister – she could certainly have a one track mind on occasion. He watched his sister smile apologetically at the girl before turning back to Rafe and answering, "Uncle Pratcy, that's what! And there's this insufferable girl in our room. I swear, if I hadn't left, no power in the Ministry could've stopped me jinxing her into next week! Shea will tell you. That Miriam is horrible."

Shea, who Bax could only assume was the quiet girl next to his garrulous sister, gazed around quickly and then gave a feeble shrug. She made no motion to speak, however, but it did not appear that even this would have stopped Bella from continuing her rant. "I mean, really, Puddlemere United? What a complete and total joke! And where in the wizarding world does Uncle Percy get off having a kid and not bothering to tell anyone? Dad's going to be livid. And Aunt Ginny. And Uncle Fred and Uncle George. We should write them in the morning, let them know. I'll bet they give him what for. It'd be nice to be there. Imagine! I mean, really, what's he on about, keeping something this huge from the family?"

Rafe had since walked over to Bax's bed and sat opposite the two girls. He glanced helplessly at Bax, who simply sighed in return and sat next to him on his own bed. Bax had given the matter a great deal of thought in the interim, and much of his initial shock and anger had abated. He looked around at his dorm mates, all of whom were watching them openly. This was not the ideal venue for this sort of conversation. A pang of homesickness hit him unexpectedly, but he quickly pushed it aside.

Neither boy seemed eager to join in the discussion, and an uneasy silence descended on the room. Finally Rafe spoke up. "It's not as though we've been close to him," he said quietly, as though he too was aware of their room full of listeners. "I mean, after…. Well, I guess I can't really blame him for not keeping in…touch."

Bella's nostrils flared, but Bax headed off the inevitable explosion. "We know about her now, eh? We can at least try to get to know her. Maybe she's nothing like Uncle Percy. You never know; she could be aces."

This was met with blank stares all around, including from most of the rest of the room. Shea couldn't seem to help herself, however, and gave a small titter before she clasped her hand firmly over her mouth, turning the bright red of the Gryffindor coloured wall hangings. "Aces," Bella echoed. "What in the world is 'aces'?"

Bax felt his face go hot. This was why he always thought carefully before speaking. "From those old movies that Granddad used to show us when we'd go over on hols and during the summer," he explained with an air of one who was long suffering as opposed to completely embarrassed. "You know, the ones in black and white; they were usually American ones, set in, um, Las Vegas." Bax waved his hand in a vague way.

By all appearances, just using the phrase "American" had been enough to get most of the people in the room to nod, but Bella simply continued to gaze at him incredulously. Although she had never been interested in those old movies, he knew better than to try to lull her into falling for a false memory. Instead, however, perhaps if only to save her brother's face, she merely sighed quietly and rolled her eyes back over to Rafe.

"I mean, really," she said, obviously picking up in the middle of some internal thought, "just because her dad is the Keeper for United, she thinks they're sure to win the league. Believe you me, I quickly put her in her place. There's absolutely no way that the last ranked team could ever hope to rocket up the league. They'd have to be using charmed brooms and about a vat of Felix Felicis to even stand a chance! We simply had to leave before I was tempted to set fire to her Puddlemere posters. Honestly! She's just beastly."

"Wood's the best Keeper Puddlemere's ever had," a strong voice stated on the other side of the room. Bax felt a certain amazement steal over him as he looked over and realised that it had come from timid-seeming, scrawny and bespectacled Ned. He had managed not only to remove his trousers, but also to put on the rest of his pyjamas without further incident. He was seated with his back against the headboard, a large book open in front of him. It was fairly obvious from the redness about his ears that he had been trying to keep his comments to himself. "I bet even the Cannons would kill to have him on their team. I've heard he turned down a lush contract offer, just because he didn't want to be disloyal. You ask me, Wood's the best player in the sport."

Bax did not have to turn around to see the glare etched on his sister's face; he could practically feel it. "Well, no one asked you!" she said shrilly.

"Wood's got nothing on the Cannons," Bella went on, the effort it took her to control her voice quite apparent. "And that contract is a load of rubbish, just stuff baked up by the Prophet to sell papers. You shouldn't believe everything you read." She punctuated this by giving his expanse of books a disparaging look. The silence that followed had hit a definite peak of discomfort, and Bella seemed to realise it. "Well, anyway, it's getting late. Come on, Shea."

She slid from the bed, not quite meeting anyone else's gazes, and her silent companion followed, although Shea wiggled her fingers in Rafe and Bax's directions as she too left Rafe's bed. Next to him, Rafe offered her a small wave as well, while Bax could only subtly shake his head.

Were Bax anyone else, he was sure he would have had words for his sister in the morning. She was just lucky he wasn't anyone else.


	6. Of Dark Things

Chapter Six

Of Dark Things

(chapter by worldsapart)

When Harry awoke in the middle of the night, it took him a moment to really realize where he was and why it was still dark. When he was finally able to think clearly, he realized that Ginny was tossing and turning wildly. She was making a deep-throated moaning sound that made Harry's stomach clench, and her cheeks were wet with tears.

It's one of her nightmares, Harry realized, his brain finally catching up to his eyes. But she hadn't had one of those in—well, it had been years. After the war had ended, they had been intense, disrupting her sleep almost every night. Her bad dreams had begun just as his had ended, and he remembered vividly just how much his heart had ached for her then. The fact that these dreams could still interrupt her slumber all these years later made concrete for him just how much the war would be a part of their lives forever.

He sat up and pulled her head into his lap. She struggled at first, but he massaged her arm soothingly and it seemed to calm her, if not stop the nightmare. "Ginny, love, come back to me," he said softly, stroking her hair. "You know I won't let anything happen to you ever again."

He repeated this mantra several times as he ran his fingers through her hair and across her cheek. Eventually her body relaxed entirely, and he raised his tone and the pressure of his caresses just enough to wake her. Ginny sat up slowly, gauging her surroundings, but as soon as she locked eyes with Harry, she burst into tears.

"Shh," he whispered into her hair as soon as he had her wrapped in his protective embrace. He offered no words of wisdom or comfort; he knew she didn't need those right now. Feeling his closeness would be enough to stem the tide of the abandonment and fear, which would still have its hold on her in the wake of her mind's visions.

It was a long while before Ginny could speak. Harry remembered the early days when he'd hold her and rock her until daylight touched the edges of the sky. This night's recovery period was nothing compared to those long morning hours of the past, but every moment he had to spend comforting the beautiful creature in his arms was one he wished he could revisit tenfold on the ones who had caused her pain. Death had denied him that privilege, and he was glad of it; his willpower would not have been strong enough to resist revenge's pleas otherwise.

"That was a bad one," Ginny said, when her voice had found her again.

Harry kissed her hair and then touched his lips down the line of her jaw where they ended at her own mouth. He could taste her tears in the kiss and felt her clinging a little too much to that closeness before she finally pulled back from him. He released her from the embrace, and they stayed just far enough apart on the bed that they could see one another without actually relinquishing the comfort of physical contact.

"Was it the same as always?" he asked, bringing up a hand to cup her cheek.

She leaned her head into his touch and tilted it slightly so she could kiss his palm. "Yes. But there were differences." She drew a shaky breath. "Rafe was there."

"You're worried about him."

"You know I am," she said simply. "I know you are, too."

Harry lowered his hand and broke eye contact with her for the first time since she'd pulled back. He played with a thread that was threatening to unravel from the edge of their sheets. "It's not like our days. There's not a professor in that school that I don't trust. They'll look out for him."

"You know that's not what I mean." Ginny touched his chin and pulled his head up so their eyes met again.

He took her hand into his and watched her before answering. The hair around her face blew a little in the breeze that came through their open window, and he was overcome by her beauty for a moment, wishing wholeheartedly that they were awake for other reasons that night. But the harsh reality was too much for even Harry's vivid imagination, and brought his thoughts back to his wife's words. "I know. I'm sorry. It's just—Are you sure we're doing the right thing?"

Anger flashed in her eyes, but it was quickly replaced by tears. "I don't want my son to die."

"Oh, love, don't cry." He pulled her back into his arms, and she didn't stop him, but she also didn't cling to him like before. "I just can't help feeling like we're missing something. Like maybe we're looking at things from the wrong angle."

Ginny pushed back from him, a little rougher than before. It was not anger that clouded her features now, he noticed, but the fierce determination that had made her his cornerstone for all these years. "Don't you tell me that you think all these years of research and hard work have been a waste. You know as well as I do the toll it's taken on you. On both of us."

Harry put his hands on her shoulders, matching her expression with a serious face of his own. "I don't care what the public thinks of me. But if you're unhappy—"

"I'm not unhappy, Harry. And I'm not talking about Rita Skeeter's latest article, either. You and Hermione have put a lot of energy into making sure we're doing the right thing. And Ron and I have managed tolerably well to keep anyone from noticing what you're up to. I just don't think you should question all that so flippantly."

"Gin, I've spent my entire life questioning myself and everything about my existence. And when it comes to Rafe—" He glanced away briefly as his voice broke. He swallowed. Now was not the time to let his emotions get the better of him. Ginny needed him. "When it comes to Rafe, I wouldn't be able to rest if I hadn't explored every possibility backwards and forwards, and then looked at it all again. For the rest of my life if necessary."

"Oh, Harry, I'm sorry. I shouldn't get upset with you. I know—" She stopped herself, shaking her head. "I love you."

Harry felt warmth seeping back into his heart to cover the chill that had begun to form there. "I love you, too. You and Rafe are my life. Without the two of you, where would the true victory in the war have been?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Ginny with a small smile. She held up her hand and began to tick off points on her fingers. "Voldemort dead, Umbridge in Azkaban, Hermione's parents out of hiding, Neville meeting his wife…."

"Cannons winning a championship?"

"You're daft."

He laughed at those words. He would never have expected he'd be able to laugh not even twenty-four hours after their son had left their home on his own for the first time in his young life, and it felt good. "You couldn't live without me."

"No, I couldn't." The laugh was in Ginny's words, but there was something else there, too. He recognized it, and was surprised to hear it there. "Don't I remember you telling me once that my nightmares gave me free license to do and say whatever I wanted in their aftermath?"

"I vaguely recall a conversation to that effect. You used to get so distraught that you didn't really have full control over your actions."

"Good."

Ginny ran her tongue over her bottom lip. Harry felt his stomach flip-flop, and he reached for her before he could even think twice about. Instead of taking his offered embrace, she pushed him away and kept pushing until he was lying back on the bed. She threw her leg over his torso and sat straddling his stomach with a satisfied grin on her face. He reached for her again, but she slapped his hand away.

"You'll have to let me apologize in advance for what I'm about to do." She fluttered her eyes innocently. "I'm very distraught and really don't know what I'm doing."

Harry recognized the words for what they were – after all, Ginny was a model, not an actress – but the beast inside him believed every word and would allow no protest. For once, the two halves of his conscience were of like mind.

* * *

The fire that had been ablaze in the Gryffindor common room many hours earlier had died down to ashes and tiny bits of charred wood still glowing faintly orange in the otherwise dark room. Not even the moonlight offered much tonight: either it was hidden behind a mass of clouds or there simply was no moon tonight. Rafe couldn't remember. Not that it really mattered. He was awake now, even though it was scarcely two o'clock in the morning. 

It was the nightmares again, always the nightmares. He had hoped that maybe the change of setting, the exhaustion of the trip and the never-ending start of term feast might allow him to sleep through the night, but it wasn't to be. So now Rafe stood in the middle of the common room in his pyjamas and dressing robe, wondering what in the world he would do with himself for four more hours before they would be allowed to roam the school freely.

His fingers went into his pocket again, and he glanced around the room to make sure no one was watching. He knew no one was, but the unfamiliarity of it all had him paranoid. He knew his dad would be angry when he discovered it was gone –_ if_ he discovered it was gone, Rafe reminded himself – but that was nothing compared to the wrath he'd face if he was caught with it, expelled from school, embarrassed his family…the list went on.

Still, the thought had been pulling at the back of his mind for the last half hour, and pretty soon he would be powerless to withstand it. His dad had done it, after all. And Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron, too, and Aunt Hermione was nothing if she wasn't an upstanding witch. What would it really hurt if he took a little night time tour of the school?

The silvery material flowed like liquid between his fingers as he pulled the invisibility cloak out of his robe pocket. He was the third generation of Potter to stand in the school with the cloak in his hands, no matter that he'd pretty much stolen this "inheritance." _He'd probably have given it to me already if he could be sure mum wouldn't find out_, Rafe told himself for at least the thousandth time since he'd nicked it from his dad's trunk. Surely he would have at least put a simple locking charm on the box if he hadn't wanted Rafe to find it.

Rafe grinned as he pictured Bella's face the next morning when he would tell her and Bax that he'd been roaming the school at night. Her expression alone would make the risk worth it, he reasoned, pulling the cloak over his head before he could give it any further thought. Besides, who would expect a student to be up this early? Staying up late, sure. But rising well before breakfast? Even Filch had to sleep sometime. There couldn't be someone policing the corridors at all hours.

The fat lady murmured something at him sleepily as he passed through the door, but he didn't pay her any mind. Either she was really loyal to her students, or someone had long ago charmed her to be unable to tattle, because Rafe had never heard stories of late night explorers being caught because of her, from either his dad or his uncles. Fred and George would have certainly passed along that vital information if it were a factor. After all, they had already told them loads of things their parents would hate them to hear, even if he suspected the two were holding back the juiciest of secrets for passing down to his youngest twin cousins when they were old enough.

The corridors felt chillier than he remembered, but by the time he hit the stairway the drafts made it seem positively windy. He pulled the cloak tighter around himself, but it offered little shielding from the cool air. As he wound his way farther downstairs, the temperature seemed to regulate itself, and he suspected that somewhere nearby there were fires going. Maybe he was near the kitchens, he thought.

Rafe had only been outside of the Gryffindor dormitories for a few minutes before the emptiness of the corridors and the lack of a specific destination allowed his mind to wander back over the previous day's events. He was still curious, naturally, at the appearance of this other cousin. Even if he hadn't been, Bella certainly wasn't going to let them forget about it anytime soon. But it was really the Sorting Hat's words that were eating at his mind.

What "dark things" were in his head? Some adults referred to the war as "the dark times," and he had certainly heard more stories about the heart of the war than anyone else his age, but even he was censored from the worst of it. And if not that, what? He didn't harbour any ill thoughts against anyone, unless you counted Devon Mordant, and he was a Slytherin, so Rafe figured it was kind of to be expected. The worst thing he could ever remember doing was, well, probably stealing his dad's invisibility cloak and sneaking out of the dormitories, but he doubted the Sorting Hat would consider this especially "dark" behaviour.

Rafe continued walking but stopped when he saw a hallway adorned with green and silver banners. Maybe it was the way to the Slytherin dormitories and maybe it wasn't, but he sure didn't want to take that chance. The last thing he wanted to do was somehow end up in their common room. The opposite hall was dark, but not unpleasantly so, and Rafe decided that was definitely his preferred route. He took a few more twists and turns, heart thumping hard in his chest as he rounded a corner to see what almost looked like a different castle's interior entirely.

This new direction was completely lined in tapestries depicting lush, green fields and dark, mysterious forests. They looked so soft that it was a conscious effort not to run his hands along the walls as he passed. The quiet was almost overwhelming down there, and his footsteps were muffled by a dark red carpet. The whole place exuded comfort and peace. He could almost seem himself lying down for a nap….

Voices up ahead shook him from his delusions of sleep. Had he been about to lie down on the floor? He quickly pressed himself as flat against the wall as he could possibly make himself. The tapestries were as soft as they had looked. In fact, they would make an excellent blanket if he wanted to just sleep here. Surely Mr. Filch wouldn't mind if he just rested for a minute.

"Really, sir," said a loud voice, an edge of irritation in the man's tone. "You must come along more quickly. The Baron will not like that he had to wait for us."

Rafe's head jerked up from where it had fallen against his chest. Only a second later he saw a faint glow come from a connecting corridor a few metres down. He had not noticed it before. Transparent white forms came into his view. No, there was no connecting corridor. They were _ghosts_, he realized, his heart suddenly racing. He'd seen them at the feast, of course, but somehow they were still a little creepy all alone in the dark like this.

"Nicholas, I think the gathering can wait two minutes for us," answered the second ghost. "The Baron would also not like Peeves setting traps outside the Slytherin common room, now would he?"

Rafe thought setting traps outside the Slytherin common room sounded like a splendid idea, but he was entirely too sleepy. He was vaguely aware of taking a few steps toward the ghosts, who had started to float down the corridor away from him. It was as if he had pewter cauldrons on his feet. _I had a dream like this once_, he thought numbly. _Kept trying to get somewhere, but never could. My feet were too heavy._

"Well, I suppose it can be forgiven this once," said Nicholas. "I've never really understood the importance of these evenings anyway. Just a few protective enchantments. We have so many already…."

Taking a few more steps, Rafe watched as the two apparitions disappeared through a tapestry. It seemed as if they hallway ended abruptly only a few more metres from him. What was the point in a passage that didn't lead anywhere? The thought so intrigued him that he kept moving despite the overwhelming urge to sleep.

At the end of the hall, he tentatively reached his hand out for the wall coverings. They were much heavier than they looked, as if the threads were truly made from the natural elements they depicted rather than spun wool and dye. However, with a little pulling, Rafe managed to lift one edge so that he could look behind it.

There seemed to be a door there, fully concealed by the tapestries. He could almost have mistaken it for simply an intricate carving, as there were symbols and pictures detailing every inch of the door and the wall around it. At least, what he could see of it. Rafe thought it looked vaguely familiar, like maybe one of those weird Egyptian tombs Bax was always showing them.

Hesitantly, Rafe reached his hand out. He didn't want to awaken any angry mummies – that was for certain – but if he could just reassure himself that it was real, then he could lie down and sleep in peace. He touched it.

Instantly, he was awake. Rafe scrunched up his eyebrows in confusion. Only a second ago he'd been ready to pass out on the floor. He'd been half out of his mind with weariness. As an experiment, he removed his hand. Once again, the urge to stretch out on the soft carpet overtook him, this time even more forcefully. He almost didn't get his hand back on the door, only really managing it because he was about the slump against the surface.

Someone had charmed the hallway to keep people away from this door! Surely there was no other explanation for it. But what was so important on the other side that this place needed a compulsion charm, but not so vital that the teachers didn't just add a hefty jinx or other trap? Rafe felt around on the surface of the door and got his answer.

There was no door handle, no keyhole, no latch or opening of any kind. Even if a person reached the door as Rafe had, there was no foreseeable way through it. He felt disappointment wash over him. It was very likely that whatever was behind that door was something he should not see, but the exhilaration of discovering it and passing the sleep charm had given him the tiny hope that maybe he could pass through this obstacle as well.

Then Rafe heard a shuffling noise in the direction from which he'd just come. Squinting in the darkness, he thought he could see two small pinpoints of light down there. Every muscle in his body seemed frozen. Was that…a cat?

The voice confirmed it. "What have you found, my sweet?" Maybe Filch didn't have to sleep after all.

Now the only issue was how he was going to get out of there and back to his dormitory without either falling asleep or being caught by the wandering disciplinarian. _Mum's going to kill me_, was the only thought in Rafe's head as he took a deep breath and launched himself down the corridor. The sleep spell hit him like a bludger to the chest, and he could feel his run slowing with every step. It also didn't help that Filch was staring down the hall directly at him. Thank Merlin for the carpet muffling his steps. In fact, that carpet would be awfully comfortable to just lay down….

Fortunately for Rafe, Filch stayed a safe distance away from the hall, no doubt avoiding the impairing enchantment himself. For the last few steps, he felt like he was walking through a vat of mud, his shoes practically suctioned to the floor. But then his feet hit the hard stone that marked the other section of hall, and suddenly he was wide-awake again, as if he'd just taken six doses of Invigoration Draught. This burst of energy hit his legs and he'd taken off running back toward his dormitory (well, he hoped that was the direction he'd taken) before he could even consider another option.

The dark things in his head could be sorted out another night.


	7. Prophecy's Plaything

Chapter Seven

Prophecy's Plaything

(scene 1 by worldsapart, scenes 2 & 3 by rainbowwisher)

"So are you going to tell us all about it or not?" said Bella on their way to their very first class the next morning. She'd meant the words only for her brother and cousin, but saw a few other kids turn around with interest. A single glare from her got them back facing in the right direction.

"There's nothing really to tell," said Rafe. He pulled a paper from his robe pocket and unfolded it. This would be his class schedule, no doubt; he'd been repeating this movement ceaselessly ever since breakfast.

"It's not going to change just because you look at it again," she said, snatching the paper from him.

"Hey, I need that!"

"Divination first, with Slytherin," she recited without looking at the list. "And yes, that does include one Melia Smith."

"Who's Melia Smith?" asked Bax, holding the classroom door open for them.

"She's that Slytherin Rafe fancies," said Bella, nodding toward the other end of the hall where the blonde girl and her friends were approaching. "He's been staring at her ever chance he gets since the Sorting last night."

"I do not fancy her," growled Rafe under his breath as they entered the room.

Bella stopped in her tracks, which caused everyone to back up behind her, but she didn't care. Their classroom was a piece of the bloody forest! Everything from the moss-covered ground to the trees brushing the stone ceiling…she fought the urge to turn around and run straight back to the common room. She took a few steadying breaths.

"What kind of freak show is this?" said a voice from behind them. Alistair walked up beside her, the bright red streaks in his hair standing out in the dim light.

Bella forced a smile onto her face. "This is Divination. The most useless class we'll ever take. Mum's already told me I could drop it after second year, if I want."

"She _is_ pretty," said Bax, pushing her lightly on the back. Bella rolled her eyes at her twin's annoying habit of being several steps behind the rest of the conversation. He could be so infuriating! Still, she let him guide her to a spot at the very edge of the forested area.

"Who's pretty?" asked Alistair. He grinned slyly and took a seat facing her and Bax. "I think Greg fancies Shea, if you ask me."

Bella saw that Greg had walked into the room with convenient timing to Alistair's statement, but the boy didn't seem upset by his new friend's words. He just shrugged. Rafe, on the other hand, was still blushing vibrantly. She was tempted to make another comment, but she suspected there was more to his early morning trip around the school than he was letting on, and she didn't want to ruin her chances of getting it out of him.

They were still a few minutes early, and as such there was no sign of their professor. She had seen him at breakfast that morning; the centaur had spoken briefly with Professor McGonagall before retreating once again, but not before all the first years had gotten enough of a glimpse of him to start whispering amongst themselves. Now the set-up of the room had given her classmates even more to talk about. She chose to dig into her book bag and pull out a long roll of parchment. There should be just enough time….

"What have you got there?" asked a voice from her left. She looked up to see one of her brother's roommates. Ned, she remembered distinctly. His face was twisted in something she supposed was worry. "I haven't missed an assignment already, have I?"

Bella grunted, putting a hand over the writing on her paper. "Move along, Inglebot."

He gave her a strange look, his eyes flicking down to the paper one more time before he scooted away from her. He bumped directly into a Slytherin girl, who also glared at him, then ended up sitting in the middle of the floor a couple of feet away from everyone else. Bella would have laughed if the boy hadn't looked so ridiculously forlorn about it, so she just rolled her eyes and looked back down at her paper.

She had six names so far, four Gryffindors, a Hufflepuff and a Ravenclaw. Not too bad for less than twenty-four hours in the school. Still, she was going to have to step it up if she hoped to convince—

"Greetings, young ones," said a soft, enchanting voice from somewhere in front of them. All of the students turned in the direction of the sound, and Bella looked up to see the light glinting off a pair of eyes and then finally the figure of their professor as he came into view. A couple of the other girls gasped in delight. "Let us begin."

The lights in the room dimmed as Firenze came to stand directly in front of them. Bella quickly shoved her parchment back into her bag as his gaze slipped over her along with the other students. "We will discuss a great many things this year and each successive one of my instruction. However, considering present company—" He looked directly at Rafe. "—I feel it is appropriate to start with one of the most important."

He waved his hand, and a picture appeared in the air before them. It was one she had seen before, every time one more news story popped up about the great Harry Potter and his valiant sidekicks. It wasn't as if journalists had a large selection; this was the only picture the group had allowed to be taken of them after the war ended. Except for Aunt Ginny, of course. It was tons more fun to look at photos from her aunt's early career than this one. Bella could listen over and over to the stories about accidentally falling into modelling after discovering the war had left her too weak for professional Quidditch. There were the hilarious tales of the first Nimbus ad all the way up till becoming the spokeswitch for Glamour Witch. Yes, much more interesting than the giant picture their teacher showed right now. Bella felt the urge to roll her eyes at it as she'd seen her mum do so many times over the years, but the life-size images drew her gaze despite her best efforts.

"You are lucky, humans," Firenze was saying as he paced behind the half-translucent picture, his hooves virtually silent on the mossy floor. "Many never live to see a prophecy played out, to see how the stars can align themselves so perfectly that only one outcome is possible."

She was barely listening to the centaur as he droned on about the importance of paying attention to the little signs, however obscure they might be. How reading the stars was an art none of them was likely to master. Instead she leaned to see around Alistair and looked at the figures floating in the air; most were very familiar. They stood in a sort of "V" formation, nearly as still as a Muggle photograph, only shifting weight from one foot to another on occasion, as if they wanted to world to see nothing more than a single glimpse of them rather than a series of personal movements.

Uncle Harry was front and centre, of course, though he didn't look happy about it. Aunt Ginny was conspicuously missing, but Bella knew she'd been in St. Mungo's for a long time after Voldemort's defeat, so her absence wasn't surprising. Her mum and dad were there was well, Dad's arm slung protectively around Mum's shoulders, while Mum had one arm in a sling. Professor Longbottom stood off to one side, and next to him were the Lupins. There were a few other faces she didn't recognize, but those people were relegated to the background—it was obvious who the subjects of the picture were. She was struck by how _young_ they all looked.

"Did he have to put that thing up there?" she heard Rafe grumble to her brother. She glanced sideways at them and saw that her cousin's cheeks were bright red. "It's not as if everyone hasn't seen it before."

"The defeat of the Dark Lord was foretold," Firenze continued, "but not in the certain terms one might expect. No, it was up to Harry Potter to take his knowledge of his prophecy and shape his own future. I hope that you can all remember that as you guide your own spirit down its destined path."

The rest of the class droned on in much the same fashion. Bella listened carefully to every word, committing each to memory. After all, they might be tested. But when the bell finally rang, she found herself completely confused. What was the point of having a prophecy if you still had to make your own destiny? Divination was complete rubbish, just like her mum had said all along.

"Bet you think you're the dog's bollocks, having the father you do," said a voice behind them as their little group walked into the corridor. Bella turned to see Devon Mordant—the red-haired twit they'd met on the train—stride right up into Rafe's personal space. "First class and you already think you're the king of Hogwarts."

Rafe's eyebrows scrunched up as he studied the prat, but Bella wished he'd just be done with that stupid boy so they could get to Potions. If they hurried, she might have time to grab that first year Ravenclaw she'd heard talking about the Cannons at breakfast—there was no way _he_ would turn down her proposal. After all, he was a Quidditch fan, and her dad just _happened_ to be the team's manager. Surely she could at least bribe him with promises of autographs, if it came to that.

"Sod off, Mordant," said Rafe, shifting his bag from one shoulder to another. Behind him, Alistair watched eagerly as if hoping a fight would break out.

Devon opened his mouth to speak, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. Melia—who Bella did not think was _nearly_ pretty enough to make even Bax take notice; after all her nose was pinched and her hair practically drained of colour—glanced up at the group, but then focused on her friend. "We should get to Transfiguration," she said. "I heard the new Professor Lupin is supposed to be brill."

"She is," input Rafe eagerly, a goofy grin coming to his face. "She's a metamorphmagus, you know. We've seen her do loads of brilliant tricks—"

Devon laughed shortly, a sneer on his face. "Is there anyone in this school who isn't friends with the 'Great Harry Potter'?"

"He _is_ great!" shouted Bella, unable to keep her mouth shut any longer. She felt her face heat up, her fists clench at her sides. "And you'll do well to remember it, you prat!"

"What's going on here?" Professor McGonagall appeared at the far end of the hall. "Language, Miss Weasley. Five points from Gryffindor."

"But professor—" she started.

"But nothing," Professor McGonagall said. "Now off to class, all of you."

They tromped off toward the dungeons, luckily in the opposite direction of the Slytherins. Alistair started laughing as soon as they'd gone around the first corner. Bella stopped, turned full around and glared at him. "You have a problem, Singh?"

He shrugged. "I was just thinking you're right."

Bella raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

This time it was Bax who answered, nodding and grinning. "Rafe _does_ fancy her."

* * *

At the top of the Great Hall, Tonks was having a difficult time in not fidgeting in her seat at the staff table. The first half of her first day of teaching under her belt, and she still felt only marginally more mature than the young faces that occasionally glanced up in her direction. Well, not her necessarily, but towards her fellow teachers. "Fellow teachers"—the thought kept sticking in her head. How long had she been the poster child for nonconformity and raging against the System? And now she was the System. The thought made her slump a little in her seat. 

She became aware, in her inconsolable state that someone had come to sit on her left. Starting a little, she turned and looked at the diminutive Charms professor. "Oh!" she exclaimed, somehow embarrassed all the more for her reaction than even her initial jerking movement. "Wotcher, Professor, er…sir?"

Flitwick gave her an inscrutable look that made her sure she had just done something to offend him, but before she could open her mouth to insert her foot any more deeply, the man's face split into a broad grin. "Oh, come now, we're colleagues, aren't we? I insist you call me Filius, Mrs. Lupin."

Tonks could feel her face getting hot, and she was sure the tips of her ears probably matched the red of her hair. "Then it's Tonks for me, please. Or, er, Nymphadora," she finished weakly. She could barely suppress the shudder at using her given name, but had thought it only polite to return Flitwick's courtesy.

The older gentleman patted her hand in a soothing fashion, and, still smiling, said, "May I call you 'Dora'? I'm terrible with longer names."

For a moment, Tonks could not speak. It had been so long since anyone had called her that. In fact, the last time anyone had said 'Dora' it had been her dear old dad just before he went into hiding. "I love you, Dora, don't you forget that," he had said. "I want you and that boyfriend of yours to keep your heads down and be safe."

"I love you too, Dad."

"Hm?" she heard distantly. The Charms professor cleared his throat again; he was gazing at her. She offered him a small, slightly watery smile. She made a motion as if to wipe her mouth, but they both knew what she was doing. Flitwick was kind enough to wait until Tonks had composed herself before he asked again, "Well, then, how has your first day been?"

Tonks grinned and said, "Oh, it's been great. I had a class of seventh years first thing. I don't remember ever being so clever or cheeky when I was their age."

"Trust me," Flitwick squeaked in an audible aside, "you were." She laughed.

"Had a bit of a break, then, and then had the Slytherin and Ravenclaw first years for third class." She scanned the room for a moment, and then jabbed her fork towards where the smallest number of students in the Great Hall sat around the far table. As she pointed towards the auburn haired snot of a Slytherin first year, the boy stood and disappeared from view for a moment. Tonks looked back at Flitwick. "Had him this morning." Her lip curled up in distaste before she could quite stop herself.

"Thought rather highly of himself, he did. Rather," she lowered her voice, "bratty, if you don't mind me saying so. All the same, he made the most progress. By the end of class, his beetle was the only one that's shell had taken on a metallic look. I was teaching them to turn them into buttons, see?"

Flitwick's thick and bushy brows rose, but Tonks had a hard time placing just what expression they were meant to, well, express. Just to be on the safe side, she looked slightly abashed and took a hasty drink of pumpkin juice, just to break what was quickly becoming an uncomfortable silence. She nearly spit it out, however, when a thought suddenly occurred to her. "Of course!" she exclaimed, knocking her hand against the edge of the table and leaning back in seat with a wide grin.

When Flitwick gave her a questioning look, Tonks began to giggle. "Mordant," she said, as though that should explain everything. When he continued to look at her blankly, she went on. "Back in my fifth year, there was this Slytherin twit named Connor Mordant. Anyway, he was giving my mate Helena a really hard time. So I came up with this great hex, _Iridopili_, and made his hair change all sorts of barmy colours. Poor Madam Pomfrey couldn't get it to change back. He had to grow his hair out and then get it all practically shaved off. He didn't leave his common room except for classes for months!"

It was obvious that Flitwick was trying very hard not to laugh. "Yes," he said, "I remember that. I also remember when that particular hex came into vogue again just a few years later. Madam Pomfrey was able to fix it in a trice." He was giving her a canny look, and realisation followed quickly on the heels of this statement.

Tonks sat back and put her hand to her chest, grinning fondly. "Bless her," she said, without an ounce of irony.

Flitwick leaned towards her and said quietly, "She was none too fond of Mr Mordant after having to sort out your friend Helena from all of those curses, though she never did say as such. She'd never speak ill of a student, no matter if they were the most beastly children she'd ever seen." The tiny man sighed and sat back upright. "I do miss her sometimes. She used to make the most terrific peppermint bark at Christmas."

Tonks left him to his memories for a moment, as it felt only respectful to do so, and so turned her attentions back to the Great Hall. She spotted the younger Mordant again almost at once, but her slight smirk vanished before it had fully formed. He was standing practically toe-to-toe with another first year: Rafe. From where she sat, she could see that the two boys were arguing. It was mostly posturing, and their voices had yet to rise above the din of the other students.

There was a certain amount of wild gesticulating and the colour had risen in both of their faces, but they did not yet look like they were about to fight in any physical sense. Tonks was a student of human behaviour; one had to be in her previous profession. She did not yet realise she was scowling until Remus and Hagrid finally came to the table through one of the doors behind her. Before Remus sat next to her, he gave her a small, but affectionate kiss on the cheek, much to the giggles of a few of the female students who had seen it. Her face cleared in an instant. Rather than getting embarrassed or jealous, Tonks merely gave those girls an exaggerated wink, which made them giggle even harder.

A few of the students around the feuding boys were watching them with thinly veiled interest, as was Tonks, but almost everyone else was immersed either in studying or animated discussions with their neighbours. Hagrid and her husband had already resumed whatever conversation they had been having when they arrived, and though she tried to listen her attention was still drawn to Rafe and the other boy. Some choice words were beginning to rise from the boys' heated discussion, words like "git," "prat" and a few others that Tonks was quite certain would shock Harry and Ginny if they knew Rafe had knew them, let alone said them.

Vague anxiety warred with amusement for a moment as she sat at the staff table, her fork twirling rapidly in her fingers. How often had she had such similar skirmishes in her school days? (And won, of course.) Seeing as how Flitwick had fallen into conversation with Professor Sinistra who sat on his other side, she felt a little less bad for almost abandoning the Charms teacher in favour of her own curiosity. Attempting to be as subtle as possible (and knowing full well that she would be doomed to fail), she began to rise from her chair, but stopped suddenly as something new came to her attention. There was a change in pitch to the room's general chatter, and it was moving in a wave from the back of the cavernous hall. Something was catching the students' eyes, and Tonks had to search the room for a moment before she too spotted it.

A tiny bird had somehow gotten into the Great Hall, and, with many "oohs" and "aahs" from the female students, had taken to flying around the room. It swooped low over the tables here and there, much like the owls in the morning. Most of the students who were watching it were laughing and pointing, obviously delighted. Tonks narrowed her eyes slightly as she watched it. Unaware even that she was speaking aloud, she wondered, "What is that?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Remus look out over the room too. His eyebrows rose in surprise. "Someone been a bit too successful in their Transfiguration practice?" he answered with a wry, questioning smile. Tonks wanted to laugh, but something inside her told her something was amiss.

She turned her full attention to the hall again, just in time to catch a swift motion from the two boys arguing halfway up the room. Rafe looked positively apoplectic with rage, and was rubbing at his shoulder. The little blonde girl who had been standing a few feet away from Devon and watching the proceedings- Meliadora was her name if Tonks remember correctly- threw up her hands in disgust and stalked away, towards the Great Hall doors, passing just behind her rude little toss of a friend. Behind Rafe, another girl walked by, going the opposite direction, headed for her house table. It took Tonks a moment to recognise the other girl in Hufflepuff colours as being Rafe and the twin's heretofore-unknown cousin, Elise.

Tonks watched the girl for a moment. It was the first time she had really had a chance to look at her, as the third Weasley had not been in her class yet. A cry of surprise made her look away, however, but it was only given by a student who obviously hadn't noticed the tiny bird and had been given a nasty shock when it had buzzed the boy's hair. His Ravenclaw friends were all laughing appreciatively at his expense. By the time Tonks searched the room again for Elise, she had already sat at her table with a knot of other younger students.

"I DON'T CARE WHAT YOUR PARENTS THINK OF MY DAD!" Rafe's voice suddenly cut across the din of the students.

In the lull that came in the moment after his outburst an extraordinary thing happened. The miniscule blue-speckled bird flew low over the middle of the hall and then abruptly came to land on Rafe's outstretched finger. The anger on the boy's face vanished in an instant, to be replaced by obvious confusion. For just a moment, Rafe and the bird seemed to stare at each other, and then the bird opened its beak and pure madness erupted from it.

It was impossible to say what the sound actually was; it was one part birdsong and one part every other sound Tonks had ever heard. It filled the room, rattling stone and glass and dishware. Here and there goblets shattered, but most of the students had already cowered down, using their hands and robes to try to stop the noise.

Screams of alarm and shock pierced through the noise the bird was making, but the tiny creature showed no sign of stopping. She heard a gasp of pain beside her and tore her attention away long enough to glance at her husband. All of the colour had bled out of his already pale face, and he looked to be in extraordinary pain. Of course! In the shock of it all, she had forgotten Remus's curse-enhanced senses.

Rummaging for a painful moment in her robes, she had a flash of coherent thought that allowed her "lose" her ears (they sank out of sight on either side of her head; were this any other situation, she never would have been caught dead doing it) and then she pulled her wand out, now in a great deal less aural agony. She aimed a sound muting charm at her beloved's ears, and watched the pain in his face lessen almost immediately.

Most of the teachers were on their feet, having already had the forethought to muffle their own hearing (Duh, Tonks, she thought), and were hurrying towards Rafe and the tiny bird. Devon, Tonks noticed, had fallen back against the Ravenclaw table, his eyes screwed up against the sound. Poor Rafe merely stood there, holding the tiny screeching bird, looking as still as a statue and just as pale.

Suddenly the bird fell sideways off of Rafe's finger and landed without a sound on the stone floor. Tonks then realised that she still didn't have ears and, without much conscious thought, put them back to rights on either side of her head. The shocked and frightened whispers of the students seemed unnaturally quiet in the aftermath of that freakish noise.

Hagrid, Tonks saw, was walking through the middle of the hall; several students had to scamper out of the way as they were straining to see what was going on. The man bent his massive girth to peer at the creature at Rafe's feet. When he straightened up, Tonks would have sworn he had just been told that his favourite crumpled-horned Snorkack had died. "I's all righ'," he said quietly, his voice echoing painfully against the stone walls, rumbling in a grief that was unique to the huge man. "'S a Jobberknoll- very rare. Poor wee 'un. Prob'ly got lost on its way ter th' Forest." Hagrid's shoulders shook a little as he let out a tremendous sigh. "'S a pity I couldn' get ter it sooner. Coulda made f'r a great lesson, carin' fer the beastie."

Even Hagrid's comparatively sedate and mournful tones could be heard clearly in the quiet that still held the Great Hall. "Well," Professor McGonagall said from her place in the middle of the table, looking a bit careworn, "I believe you students still have classes to attend this afternoon."

And just like that the spell was broken. The room erupted into excited chatter once more, and the hall was filled with the sounds of bench legs scraping and books being gathered. Tonks had nearly turned to ask Remus if he was all right when she heard it. There was a clatter of hooves at the Great Hall doors; she looked up and saw that Firenze was standing there, staring into the room.

There was something in the centaur's normally placid face, however, that Tonks had never seen. Muttering a quick apology to her husband, she gave him a quick, unthinking peck on the cheek and dashed out of the Hall. In passing, she saw the new Potions Master approaching Hagrid and Rafe, but she could not spare it another thought. (Though she did admit to herself that perhaps she had not given him enough credit. He made all appearances of being genuinely concerned about the situation.)

Out in the hall, which was quickly filling with students, she barely caught sight of Firenze disappearing into his enchanted classroom. The door closed before she could reach it. Tonks paused for only the space of a breath, and then she rapped her knuckles against the heavy wooden door.

Without waiting, she pushed inside the room and took a few steps into the woodland glade. In the twilight that was swiftly falling, Tonks could barely make out what was around her. There was movement to her left and she turned towards it, offering a jaunty, "Wotcher, Firenze?"

The friendly smile on her face froze. The centaur was staring at her with blazing eyes. It was the most furious she had ever seen this or any centaur and it made her keenly understand the reason for their fearsome reputation. Hooves stomped the ground heavily as he moved around, clearly agitated. Even his voice was different, heavy and dark, as he said, "You should not be here, daughter of man."

"Well, I saw you," she started to say, waving vaguely behind her, "outside the Great Hall. You looked…" Her voice faded into perplexed silence.

"How am I meant to look?" he questioned her, the force of his gaze making her look away. "Am I only tolerated when I look in kindness at your prattling foals? Do I become a danger when I survey them with anything but the adoration you would expect from a mongrel dog?"

"No!" Tonks snapped, staring up at him in hurt and shock. "How could you even begin to believe that I would ever do that? You may be the master of reading the stars, but you have a world to learn about us 'lowly humans.'"

Firenze drew himself up, but Tonks stood her ground. His lips pulled back in something like a sneer. "Speaking of foals," he said in a low and dangerous voice, "do you not have a class of them to teach? I know that mine will be along shortly. I suggest you be on your way."

Summarily dismissed, Tonks frowned and began to walk backwards, still watching the centaur, and then she turned towards the door. "You should watch yourself, Professor Lupin," Firenze called out to her, and his tone had its familiar misty quality to it once more. It made her pause. "Mars has been particularly bright lately. There's no telling what could happen when it passes through your house."

Tonks shot him a last glance over her shoulder, clearly showing her disdain for his specialised branch, and then opened the door and walked into the hallway. True to his word, there were students approaching. Fixing a smile to her face, she waved at the third years as they passed and then began walking to her own class. Her mind was reeling. What could have possibly happened to make Firenze that furious? And what had that warning been about? That divination stuff was nonsense, of course it was. Still, why did she feel so ill at ease all of a sudden?

* * *

The dungeons had never been exactly evoked feelings of warmth or welcome; this was why Neville was seldom down there. He hated the lack of sunlight; the stillness of the air and the way the cold seeped into one's bones. Still, there was business to attend to, and the more he put it off the less likely he would be to actually see to it. As such, he squared his shoulders, pulled his robes a bit more forward on his shoulders and stepped up to the heavy wooden door that led into new Potions Master's office. He raised his hand to knock, but paused for a moment as an altogether foreign and warm smell wafted through the door. 

His brow quirked despite himself, but he found himself knocking despite his puzzlement. A muffled voice called politely for him to come in, and so Neville opened the door and stepped inside. To say that the décor had changed would have been a woeful understatement. Never in all his time at Hogwarts, either as student or teacher, had he ever seen such rich and vivid colours. The creepy and often disturbingly indistinguishable objects that had floated in a varying mixture of fluids in glass jars all around the room were gone, or at the very least hidden behind tapestries and fabrics that hung from ceiling.

The scent that had been hinted at through the door came from a small smoking object that sat on the new teacher's desk. It reminded him a touch of Trelawny's old tower room, but the incense did not slow the mind in this case. The man sat at his desk, a few scrolls of parchment and books around him, and his quill hovered just above one of the scrolls. He was gazing at Neville with a look of slight bemusement, that, despite its seeming benevolence, made him feel quite as though he was standing before quite another, much darker and far more cruel man. "Ah, yes," he stuttered quietly as he held his hands tightly behind him to keep himself from fidgeting, "P-Professor Meravi…"

In a grin that revealed brilliantly white teeth, the other man shook his head and stood. Setting down his quill, he then put his hand out to Neville. "Please, Professor Longbottom, I insist you call me Mohinder."

He could feel himself smile and began to relax by degrees. "And you should call me Neville. It's been six years and I still haven't gotten used to being called 'Professor'. You'd think a thing like that would be normal to me now."

Mohinder chuckled and shook his head again. "I never got used to being called 'Guru Meravi' at sura milana, and I was there for many, many years. Please, Neville, sit." He waved a hand towards one of the two chairs on the other side of the desk. Even those were different from the plain, hard wooden chairs from before. These had been covered in thick cloth the colour of burnished copper, and the seats were padded with thick cushions that were embroidered with complicated designs. Neville sat and suddenly felt himself markedly more relaxed then he had been before.

Rather than sitting, his fellow professor turned to a small table that Neville only noticed when Mohinder approached it. "I was about to have some tea. Would you care for some?"

"Oh, yes, please," Neville replied. He glanced around the office again. "You taught in India, did you?"

Mohinder looked back at him in surprise, even as he poured an aromatic tea into two cups. "You speak Hindi?"

Neville shook his head, chuckling in a rather self-effacing way. "No, but I had a very… knowledgeable friend at one time. She had quite the habit of knowing a great many things about a great many subjects. She even had gone so far as to learn about some of the other wizarding schools around the world. Apparently some of the names stuck in my memory." He gave a wry grin. "It means 'to be attuned', doesn't it?"

The other man grinned broadly at him and nodded as he handed Neville his cup of tea and then finally took a seat. "It does indeed. As I'm sure you are aware, we approach magic a little differently than our Western counterparts." His smile became a wry one. "At least the ways of potion making do not differ so fundamentally." Neville chuckled while the other man sipped his tea. "Now, I do not wish to seem in the least bit rude, but what is it I can do for you, Neville?"

"Oh," Neville replied, the colour rising in his face. He had nearly forgotten the reason for his errand. He set his cup and saucer on the edge of Mohinder's desk and leaned forward slightly. "Actually, it's less what you can do for me than what I can do for you." This earned him a raised brow, but Neville went on. "Well, you see, it's just that I grow no small variety of things in the greenhouses. I simply thought that it might make more sense for you to use what's already available at the school, rather than having to order it from elsewhere. Forgive me, but it just seems to be more cost effective."

There was silence for a moment, in which Neville tried very hard not to move or let his own gaze falter. "Cost…effective?" the other man echoed, and then chuckled. "That sounds like a very…samanya concept." It was Neville's turn to look at him blankly. "Sorry, I believe you call them… Muggles?"

Neville chuckled and said offhandedly, "My wife is a Muggle; I suppose I picked up the term from her."

"You're married?" Mohinder appeared surprised.

"For seven years now," Neville replied with a warm grin. "We have two children, little girls. How about you, if you don't mind me asking?"

Mohinder's lips thinned a little, Neville noticed, and his face seemed to still. "No," he said a little quietly, "I fear that teaching became my life. My wife and I..." He broke off and a dark look passed over his features.

"I-I'm sorry," Neville stuttered, but any more apology was interrupted by a knock on the office door at his back. He watched his host rise and begin to move around his desk.

"It completely slipped my mind," Mohinder said, "I had completely forgotten that I had an appointment." When Neville began to stand, the other man shook his head, indicating that he should stay. Confused, he sank back into his chair, but turned around to see who else might be coming by at so late an hour. He was therefore surprised to see it be none other than- "Professor Lupin?"

The older man gave him a tired smile, even while Mohinder ushered him into the room. "How many times have I asked you to call me 'Remus', Neville? I didn't realise you already had company, Professor Meravi. I can come back another time, if you'd rather?"

Slightly abashed, Neville shook his head. "No, it's all right. I can go."

"Please, sirs," Mohinder replied, waving the D.A.D.A teacher to the other unoccupied chair with a magnanimous smile, "I insist you both stay. Neville was just offering to replenish my potions stores with the bounty of his greenhouses." Out of the corner of his eye, Neville saw Remus nod briefly. "So, what can I do for you, Professor?"

Neville shifted uncomfortably; there was no reason for him to remain, so why was he still there? Lupin quirked a smile that made him feel almost at once at ease. "Nothing, really," he said. "I just wanted to introduce myself in a bit less crowded setting than the Great Hall."

Mohinder grinned and nodded. "I see," he said. "Then you will join us for a cup of tea?"

Lupin's smile became a rueful one. "I'm afraid not, no. Tea at this hour would have me up for most of the night. That's the trouble with being a-"

"Werewolf," the new professor finished. Neville looked at him in surprise, as did Lupin, he saw out of the corner of his eye. "Forgive me, Professor Lupin, but your condition is no well kept secret. Nor is mine, by all appearances."

Remus chuckled, surprising Neville. "I was going to say a professor, but, yes, I am a werewolf," he said. Neville felt a stab of pride at how strong his colleague had been throughout the years, despite the persecution of his kind.

Mohinder made a gesture of apology as he sat again. "Forgive me, please," he said. "I did not mean to seem rude. It will be difficult for me to accept the fact that I am finally in a place that approaches 'half-breeds', for lack of a better term, with tolerance rather than blatant hostility." Neville's gaze travelled between the two men, wondering for a moment if he could have been nearly so resilient as they seemed. "I know my appointment to this post was perhaps poorly timed, made all the more so by my unfortunate dealings during the War." The man gave a deep body sigh and stared wistfully into the contents of his teacup.

"You were under the Imperius Curse," Neville spoke up, surprising even himself. "No one can possibly hold you accountable for what you may have done. He Who-" he steeled himself to speak the word, his jaw clenching tightly " Voldemort would have stopped at nothing to control someone with your kind of abilities."

He found himself being stared at by both professors, but he did not look away. "Just when I think so many things haven't changed," he heard Remus say to himself. Neville grinned a little, despite the dark turn the conversation had taken.

"Are you then able to take the Wolfsbane potion?" Mohinder asked, apparently deciding that a return to their previous topic was in order. This secretly pleased Neville, for he never particularly liked being the centre of attention.

Lupin's mouth drew into a thin line and he sighed. "When I can, yes. Honestly, the cost is nothing short of astronomical, even with Ministry subsidising. I love my work, I do, but it's difficult to afford the potion every month." His voice trailed off, and Neville looked over to see him looking towards his lap. He had no idea that it had been so difficult for the other man, aside from the curse of being a werewolf itself.

Mohinder leaned forward, crossing his arms in front of him on the desk. "It is a difficult thing to make, but I will gladly do so for you- especially given that Neville has been kind enough to offer his help with the ingredients." He gave them both a tiny smile and then leaned back again.

Neville did not have to see the astonishment on Lupin's face to know it was there; it was practically palpable. "Of course," Neville said, "I'll do anything in my power to help."

When Neville looked at him again, Lupin's gratitude was clear. "While our paths may have diverged, sir," he heard Mohinder say, "we walk the same road. I am no stranger to prejudice." The two men exchanged a significant look, but it had passed in only a moment. "Well," the new professor said as he got to his feet, "I don't mean to be rude, but it is late and we all have classes in the morning. May I wish you both a good evening?"

Taking that distinct cue, both of the potions master's guests stood, each shaking the man's hand and saying their quiet farewells. Neville walked out into the cold damp hallway with Lupin, and had to suppress a shiver. They walked up out of dungeons, each in their own thoughtful silence, until they had reached the main entrance hall. "Good night, Neville," Lupin said, looking both tired and quietly elated.

He felt himself smile as he said, "Good night… Remus."

* * *

Authors' Note: 

Okay, okay...first I have to say "sorry" for taking an extra two weeks or so to get this chapter done. It took us awhile to pull this stuff out of our heads, and in the meantime life got in the way. On the bright side, this is an extra 2500 words _longer _than normal, so perhaps it was worth the wait...

From rainbowwisher - This was fun to write, even if Lupin wanted to stick with Professor-mode. And Tonks can just write herself- if given the proper push. 

Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed so far! I know reading next generation stuff can be chancy on quality, so I just hope ours is up to par. :)


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